


The Ghost of Yi Ti

by The_Jade_Samurai



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood Magic, Blood and Gore, Dragons, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Ghost of Tsushima/The Last Samurai vibes, Grey Jon, Invasion of Westeros, It ain't what you think it is, Japanese and Korean cultural elements, Jogos Nhai, Jon Snow is Not Called Aegon, Jon gets a dragon, Jon is raised in Yi Ti, Lyanna Stark Lives, Magic, Necromancy, Night Fury, Samurai Elements, Yi Ti
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:20:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 32,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27615445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Jade_Samurai/pseuds/The_Jade_Samurai
Summary: Fearful of Robert Baratheon's wrath, Lyanna Stark flees the Seven Kingdoms with her newborn son and the remaining loyal Kingsguard to Essos. However, a series of unfortunate events send them wildly off course toward the mysterious Golden Empire of Yi Ti, a land unknown to them. Jhaegar 'Jon' Targaryen is raised by the noble jeonsa, legendary warriors known for their honour and strength in battle. Raised in a different culture and speaking a different language, how will Jon fare when he decides to take back the Seven Kingdoms and reclaim what is rightfully his? With the might of the oldest and most powerful empire in the known world, surely it will be easy?
Relationships: Arthur Dayne & Jon Snow, Arthur Dayne/Lyanna Stark, Jon Snow & Lyanna Stark, Jon Snow & Original Male Character(s), Jon Snow & Oswell Whent, Jon Snow/Original Female Character(s), Lyanna Stark/Rhaegar Targaryen, Original Male Character(s)/Original Female Character(s), Robb Stark/Margaery Tyrell
Comments: 64
Kudos: 186





	1. Tyrion I

**Author's Note:**

> A rewrite of my story The Princess of Yi Ti so major it's a completely different story. Please read the summary for a brief idea of what to expect from this all-new story. I hope you enjoy Ghost of Yi Ti as much as you did Princess of Yi Ti. Any and all reviews (except for trolls) and constructive criticism are welcomed.
> 
> Updates will be weekly/fortnightly, with the aim being every Wednesday night Australian Eastern Standard Time.

Tyrion Lannister, the dwarf of Casterly Rock and his father’s greatest shame yet most clever of his three children, really wanted some wine right about now. The headache he’d woken up with had been manageable, for the most part until he’d started to perform his labours as acting Hand of the King. Dealing with court politics was easy enough as most of the lords and ladies of the court of King’s Landing were utter simpletons who couldn’t tell which end of a sword was the pointy end. But it was the other things Tyrion had to deal with that were just making his head spin even more.

Joffrey was simply getting worse and worse. His idiocy in having Lord Stark executed was making the brat think he was invincible, even as his country threatened to burn because of his impulsive cruelty. Now Lord Stark’s eldest boy Robb was declaring himself the King in the North and fighting against the crown in the Riverlands. In the Stormlands, young Renly Baratheon had married that Tyrell girl and was fashioning himself a claimant to the throne, and the unyielding Stannis waited in Dragonstone, sending ravens out to as far as the Wall declaring himself the rightful king of Westeros. Not only that, but the smallfolk in King’s Landing were rioting, and not even Joffrey’s cruel reputation was doing anything to trample down the anger and fear of the people. And the stupid boy was too cowardly and sheltered by Cersei to do anything about it. And Cersei, oh by the Old Gods and the New she had become infuriating since Jaime’s capture. All of this was just giving Tyrion the biggest of migraines that refused to go away.

And he did not even have time to take a break. A ship had arrived at the docks, from Yi Ti of all places. The goldcloaks did not know what to do with the odd situation, so they had sent someone up to the Red Keep to investigate. Naturally that meant Tyrion was the only one qualified for the job and as such he was forced to take a whole battalion of Gold Cloaks and Ser Bronn with him. After all, it would not do for the Heir of Casterly Rock to be killed by a mass of angry peasants, even if it might make his father smile for the first time in years. Imagine that. A Lannister, killed by the commonfolk. Actually Tyrion’s father would probably send his armies to slaughter all of King’s Landing if that happened, if only to preserve the legacy he so desperately wished to uphold for his house.

Tyrion came to the docks and breathed in the fresh, salty air that removed the constant stench of shit and filth, escorted by over a dozen Gold Cloaks and Ser Bronn. Janos Slynt, the Lord Commander of the Gold Cloaks had insisted he come as well. Tyrion did not even need to ask to know why. Janos Slynt was as corrupt as people came, and he was also looking to elevate his station above others much like the rest of the morons in this city. The Lord Commander’s presence was simply a fool’s wish in seeing himself surrounded by other people of power, most notably the Hand of the King. Even from behind Tyrion could imagine Ser Janos’s pompous expression on his face. Tyrion was actually considering getting rid of Janos and replacing him with that other man, Ser Arnold whatever his last name was. He seemed to be the only man in the whole City Watch capable of swinging a sword well, and from Tyrion’s limited interactions with him came across as a strong, honourable man. King’s Landing could do with a few more of those kinds of men.

Most of the workers on the docks kept their distance upon seeing the entourage of soldiers, some with looks of fear in their eyes. Tyrion sighed. The Gold Cloaks were supposed to be King’s Landing’s protectors, but their corruption and brutal methods under Joffrey’s regime was driving the trust of the people further and further away. If Tyrion did not work to improve upon that, the starving population would very soon be the least of his worries. However, there was one group of people who clearly stood out from the rest of them towards the end by a curiously-shaped ship. Some of them were working on unloading crates from the ship onto the dock, while others stood in strange… well, to Tyrion they almost looked like dark grey or black dresses but far looser and worn by men. The men themselves stood straight and tall, eyeing all passers-by distrustfully. They were definitely YiTish however. They were medium-height to tall, with black hair tied up in topknots at the tops of their heads. The ones in the black dresses (Tyrion probably needed to stop thinking of the strange clothing like that in case he accidentally offended one of them) all had strange, curved swords tucked into their belts with their arms folded across their chests, deep scowls on their faces.

 _Warriors, or hired guards,_ thought Tyrion. Unlike the blithering idiots who made up a fair portion of the Gold Cloaks, including their esteemed leader, these YiTish men looked like they actually knew how to kill. He felt a small sense of… well, he couldn’t say it was fear exactly, but seeing the men certainly had him on edge. It reminded him a little of his own father, actually.

Steeling himself, and trusting Ser Bronn and the Gold Cloaks to have his back, Tyrion approached the YiTish sailors and guards as confidently as he could.

“Good afternoon gentlemen,” he greeted. The men simply looked at him indifferently. Well, Tyrion had been expecting a cold welcome but not indifference. Clearing his throat slightly, he said, “I am Lord Tyrion Lannister, Hand of the King of the Seven Kingdoms. You are certainly a long way from home, may I ask what brought you here?”

Still no response. The YiTish men continued to stare at Tyrion like he was some kind of curious animal, a look the dwarf was familiar with at this point. Behind him, he heard Ser Bronn chuckle.

“You fools, Lord Tyrion asked you a question!” barked out Ser Janos Slynt. The YiTish men’s attention turned to the Lord Commander and frowned at him, but did not react.

“Thank you, Ser Janos. But I think it would be best if you let _me_ do the talking,” said Tyrion condescendingly. Ser Janos sputtered before stepping back, red-faced and embarrassed. Tyrion straightened his collar slightly before turning back to the YiTish. “Do any of you speak the Common Tongue?”

Ser Bronn scoffed loudly. “Unlikely. I doubt any of these prissy boys can understand anything we say,” he said scornfully.

“Be glad they do not, good ser, else they would cut out your tongue for the perceived insult,” said a young, masculine voice behind them. Tyrion, Ser Bronn and the Gold Cloaks all turned around to see a young man, possibly in his early twenties dressed almost exactly the same as the others, though his clothing was pitch black lined with blood-red trimming. Something about the clothing nagged at the back of Tyrion’s mind, but that was the last thing he was thinking of. The young man who’d appeared was definitely Westerosi, but not only that, but Tyrion felt like he was seeing a Ghost. Why did this man look exactly like Ned Stark come again?

“Forgive my men,” continued the man in a polite voice that had the slightest of accents, though Tyrion couldn’t place where it originated from. He was too distracted by how much the man resembled the dead Lord Stark to even think properly. The man was either unaware of Tyrion’s internal plight or was choosing to ignore it when he said, “What can I do for you?”

“Oh, yes- um,” said Tyrion, quickly recollecting himself. Beside him, he glanced at Ser Janos, whose face had gone white as a sheet as he stared at the man. “My name is Tyrion Lannister, Hand of King Joffrey. We came down here to investigate why a YiTish ship of all things had docked in the Blackwater.”

“A Lannister? Well, I have heard much about your family,” said the man. Was it just Tyrion’s imagination, or had the man’s expression darkened slightly? “I can assure you my lord, we are not pirates here to ransack your little town,” continued the man, looking over Tyrion to give the Gold Cloaks a meaningful stare. Tyrion also noticed that the man had two swords similar to the YiTish’s in his belt, though one was about half as long as the other.

“You are not YiTish,” said Tyrion.

“No, I am not,” affirmed the man. “I am as Westerosi as you are, my lord.”

“What is a Westerosi doing with savages such as these?” questioned Ser Janos quietly. Not quietly enough, because the man clearly heard it as he raised an eyebrow.

“Such narrowmindedness will get you in trouble, good ser,” warned the man in a friendly tone. However, his hand had moved to casually rest on the pommel of one of his blades. All it would take was one swing and things would fall into chaos.

Sensing the sudden tension in the air, Tyrion stepped forward and before Ser Janos could open his mouth to say something that might put him in an early grave, said, “I am sure that it is a delightful story, one that I would be eager to hear more of. Perhaps, my lord would do me the honour of accompanying me to my favourite pub?” He looked at the man hopefully as an idea came to his head.

The man looked thoughtful for a moment, before shrugging. “I do not see why not,” he said. Turning back to his men, he said something in YiTish that had the YiTish men bowing from the waist at him before going to the boat, leaving just two with the man.

“Come,” said Tyrion. He turned around, beginning the walk back through the city. Instead of taking the man and his two guards to a regular old pub in the city, instead Tyrion went to Littlefinger’s brothel, a place where he could, hopefully, learn more about the strange travellers by providing sufficient distractions that could get them to inadvertently reveal their secrets. It was a trick that Tyrion had used several times to great effect, and he knew that Petyr Baelish and Lord Varys used the same methods with similar results. And more than likely it had been used on Tyrion as well. What could he say, he enjoyed his women and his wine. It was a tried and true method, one that Tyrion was going to exploit once more on these gentlemen.

Passing by the door with the mockingbird emblem, Tyrion had one of the City Watchmen open the door into the lavish brothel. Even though the dwarf did not like Baelish in the slightest, he had to admit that the man had exquisite taste. All of the interior was lavishly decorated with the finest and most expensive silks and stone, and the couches and beds made of the best woods and pillows money could buy. Tyrion cared little for the erotic paintings hanging from the walls, but he could still appreciate the art from an objective point of view.

“Welcome to the most refined brothel in all of King’s Landing,” he said pleasantly. Almost instantly Ser Bronn and Ser Janos vanished, making Tyrion sigh internally. What was the point of having bodyguards if they disappeared at the first opportunity to enjoy a woman?

“Why did you bring us here?” asked the man. Tyrion noticed how he and his men seemed utterly bored with the place. That was not a good sign, but the girls had not arrived just yet. Speaking of which, several prostitutes came from around a corner, scantily-clad with silks that hid all but the most enticing parts while teasing what lay underneath them.

“I often find that that after a hard day of making sure the whole country does not burn to the ground, a good cup of wine and the company of pleasant women to be the best source of stress relief,” said Tyrion. He sat down on one of the fine cushioned chairs and poured two goblets of wine, offering one to the young man which he took. When the man eyed it distrustfully, Tyrion said, “It is not poisoned.”

“That is not what I am worried about,” replied the man, but regardless he took a large gulp and set the empty goblet down on the table, sitting down in the other chair.

“This establishment has some of the finest girls in the Seven Kingdoms, so you are free to take your pick of the one who catches your eye the most,” said Tyrion as he poured the man another cup, then gestured to the waiting girls who were smiling at them coyly. Or rather, they were smiling at the young man who still had not even spared a single glance their way. _Interesting. Perhaps our visitor prefers the company of men?_ Thought Tyrion.

“You and I have very different methods of relieving our stress, my lord,” said the man. He downed his second cup and grimaced. “This wine is weak.”

“It is Arbour Gold, the sweetest wine you will ever find this side of the Narrow Sea,” said Tyrion.

“It is sweet, but not very strong,” said the man. “If you wish to get me drunk enough to spill my secrets, then I suggest you find me some _sake_.”

“ _Sake_?” repeated Tyrion. He had never heard of such a thing. Perhaps, once he was done here, he should take a look at the library and read a little bit about Yi Ti.

“Never mind,” said the man dismissively.

Tyrion inspected the man before him. He was young, possibly no older than twenty, but he carried himself in a way that spoke of experience most men twice his age did not possess. He was handsome, in a pretty sort of way with hair black as ink that fell down to his shoulders in soft waves. He had a well-trimmed beard that was a little thin, but the look suited him as it made him seem a little older. There was also a scar above his right eye and on his cheek, possibly from a blade.

“Forgive me, my good man, but I forgot to ask your name,” said Tyrion.

“Jon,” said the man simply.

“Jon, that is a strong Northern name,” said Tyrion.

“My mother is from the North,” said Jon.

“And your father?”

“The South.”

Tyrion smiled tightly, but inside he was a little miffed. Jon, if that was even his real name, was not giving much away. He had the Northern look, which Tyrion could easily believe, but he wanted to know more.

“Your mother is from the North, your father the South. And yet you claim to be from Yi Ti, may I ask why?” questioned Tyrion.

“My father died just before I was born, and my mother and I were taken in by his brothers to go on a trip to see the world and find better lives,” said Jon. “Robert’s Rebellion had left them all with nearly nothing so they took the first boat across the Narrow Sea until they ended up in Yi Ti.”

“Which is one of the furthest places from Westeros as you can get,” said Tyrion. He took a sip of his wine before saying in a careful, yet slightly prodding voice, “So what brings you back from your long exile?”

Jon gave a small grin at that. “Opportunity, my lord,” he answered. “My friends and I, though we do not look it, are merchants sent by one of the lords of Yi Ti to find an opportunity to open a trade route between our two nations. I was sent because I am from both lands.”

“One so young, yet trusted with such a heavy responsibility,” commented Tyrion.

“Women are married and begin bearing children far younger than I am. Compared to that, this is nothing,” said Jon.

“Wise words,” said Tyrion, raising his cup to the younger man. Jon copied the gesture and finished his cup, then set it down once more. Tyrion noticed that Jon still had not looked at the waiting prostitutes, so he thought he might push the man in that direction. “The girls seem rather eager to get to know you,” he said lightly.

Jon shrugged indifferently. “They are not my type,” he said.

Tyrion felt an eyebrow raise on his ugly face. “Do you prefer a…” how could he put this? “Rougher company?”

“I am very much attracted to the opposite sex my lord,” said Jon, “however my tastes are rather exclusive.”

“You prefer the women of Yi Ti?” questioned Tyrion. When Jon nodded, he snorted. This man was truly something else. Shaking his head slightly, he asked, “Tell me about Yi Ti. I am a studious man who enjoys learning new things, but I must admit I know next to nothing of your strange world.”

“Yi Ti is the oldest civilization in the known world,” said Jon. “The empire existed during the Age of Heroes and the Long Night. Not even the Valyrians could outlast them. Our cities are grander than anything you have ever seen my lord, they make King’s Landing look like a squalor in comparison.”

“Fascinating,” said Tyrion quietly. They talked for several more hours as Tyrion picked Jon’s brain of as much information about the reclusive empire as possible. The dwarf found that while Jon was a man who answered simply and honestly (a true breath of fresh air), the boy seemed to be a little on the sober side. Again Tyrion was reminded of how much he seemed like Ned Stark, even down to his personality and mannerisms. Though Jon definitely appeared far more confident than the dead former Warden of the North. There were other interesting things that Tyrion picked up on. When Jon asked him about the state of the Seven Kingdoms, he talked about how there was currently a war going on in the Riverlands between the Lannisters and the North as a result of Joffrey killing Ned Stark. Jon’s face had looked briefly stricken for a moment before it resumed its natural, closed off expression. Tyrion filed that in the back of his mind for later thought. And as they spoke, Tyrion couldn’t help but shake the feeling that _he_ was the one being manipulated, not the other way around. Perhaps it was the wine speaking.

The two men would have continued well into the night were it not for Ser Bronn and Janos’s return, both looking satisfied with their time in the brothel. Tyrion would have made a snide remark about the two men’s abandoning of their duties for a time of temporary satisfaction, but he noticed the dark look that had crossed on Jon’s face as he looked at Ser Janos. Another thing to ponder about. However, the time had come to separate from the YiTish and their leader, though Tyrion managed to squeeze a promise out of Jon to meet again before heading back to the Red Keep.

“What an interesting fellow,” mused Tyrion. He was back in his private room, the fire roaring in the hearth as he sat at a table in a plush chair with a cup of wine in his hands. His mind was still on Jon and his strange origins and story. He was so fascinated, in fact that he had spurned Shae’s advances in order to think more about this mysterious new puzzle. There was a knock on his door, and when Tyrion bid the person to enter, his senses were assaulted by the smell of strong perfumes and incense. Lord Varys, the Master of Whispers. The eunuch, as always, was clothed in the finest silks, his bald head shining in the orange light caused by the fire. He also had that ever-present look that he knew more than anyone else in the room, which unfortunately for Tyrion, was quite possibly true.

“You asked for me, my lord,” said Varys with a light bow at the door.

“I did indeed,” said Tyrion sarcastically as he bid Varys to come closer, once the Spider had approached, he asked, “Have your little birds spoken to you of anything concerning the YiTish who landed on our shores?”

“It has been all they have been twittering about, my lord,” said Varys. “The arrival of such an unknown entity has gotten all of them singing.”

“Have your birds spoken of anything of note?” asked Tyrion.

“The YiTish are supposedly led by a man who looks Westerosi, a Northerner,” said Varys.

“I already knew that, I’ve met and spoken with him. Have they spoken of anything else?” said Tyrion dismissively.

“Just that the men have been seen in all parts of King’s Landing, in particular the markets in the middle of the city and along the Blackwater.”

“Jon claimed to have been a merchant, perhaps he was looking for people he could barter with,” said Tyrion thoughtfully.

“My lord?” questioned Varys.

“Nothing,” said Tyrion. Then he sighed. “Have your birds found out about the origins of the YiTish’s mysterious leader?”

“Nothing more than what he probably told you, I am afraid,” said Varys, sounding anything but. “It seems that everyone who speaks with him, he tells the same story that he was born in the North, but moved with her mother and deceased father’s family to new lands in search of a better life. He has spoken often with the smallfolk in particular of how Robert’s Rebellion was the cause of his family’s need to leave.”

Tyrion sighed, frustrated. Jon and the YiTish were a puzzle, and Tyrion had been born with an insatiable desire to learn everything that could be learned, including the secrets of others. Knowledge was power, and if he could learn the reason as to why they had come to Westeros, he could know how to best handle the situation. There were a few things that bothered him, however.

“I think he may have some connection to the Starks,” said Tyrion, loud enough for Varys to hear.

“Oh?” said Varys. This must have been the first he’d heard of it.

“Have you seen the leader? The Westerosi man from the North?” asked Tyrion. When Varys shook his head, he continued, “The man bears a striking resemblance to the late Lord Stark, so much in fact I would have assumed that he was young Lord Robb were it not for the fact that I have already met the lad. He looks more Stark than any of Ned’s children.”

“Interesting,” said Varys. “I shall have my little try to find more information about him. Maybe he can be bought or coerced. He is a merchant, after all.”

“I already tried that,” said Tyrion, “the man refused the prostitutes at Littlefinger’s brothel.”

“Not every man thinks with his cock,” said Varys chidingly.

“Spoken like a man without one,” retorted Tyrion easily. He did not feel sorry in the slightest when he saw Varys shake his head in disappointment.

“I meant that perhaps we can gain his loyalties. He did say that we was here to establish ties between Yi Ti and the Seven Kingdoms,” continued Varys.

“It is possible, however we first have to know what it is that motivates him,” said Tyrion thoughtfully.

“I shall have my birds on the-“ Varys was cut off when there was a sudden pounding on the door. Tyrion got up out of his chair and opened the door, feeling surprised when he saw a breathless Lannister soldier standing there.

“Lord Hand! A body has been brought to the Red Keep. It is urgent!” breathed out the soldier.

“Bodies are found all the time, I am sure someone else can look this issue over,” said Tyrion. Looking over his shoulder, he saw that Varys looked completely unperturbed, though he definitely looked curious.

“My lord, the body is Ser Janos Slynt of the City Watch,” insisted the soldier.

Tyrion froze as he looked up at the soldier. Janos Slynt, dead? But he’d seen him just a few hours prior!

“Take me to him,” ordered Tyrion. The soldier wasted no time in leading the way, and Tyrion did his best to keep up with his stubby legs, but it was difficult and he soon found himself out of breath and his knees aching. Though out of sheer stubbornness and that innate need of his to prove that he could be just like anyone else in spite of his physical limitations he pressed on. They were taken down to the lower parts of the keep, down to Grand Maester Pycelle’s quarters. Already there were several people gathered, including Cersei and Lord Baelish. They were gathered around a table that had the body of the City Watch’s Lord Commander laid on top. Tyrion pushed to the front, ignoring the annoyed grunt of one of the guards and inspected the body.

Janos’s body had, to put it simply, been butchered. His neck had three thin red marks in it, two on the side and one right under his jaw that indicated that he had been stabbed upwards right into his brain. His armour, once golden and well-maintained was now stained in his own gore, with several puncture marks in the armour. The blood was still fresh, and so was the smell of shit. Tyrion stepped closer and looked at the wounds in Janos’s neck. They were thin, like they had been made by a dagger or a similar blade. Every single one of the wounds on the dead man’s body were fatal, but the amount was almost overkill.

“Who did this?” asked Tyrion. He looked up at Maester Pycelle, who was busy inspecting the body from the other side of the table.

“We do not know, the body was found outside the front gates of the Red Keep,” answered Lord Baelish.

“And no one saw who put it there?” questioned Tyrion.

“No one, my lord. It was as if the body had just appeared right there before our eyes,” said someone, a soldier.

“Were you there?” asked Tyrion.

“No my lord.”

Tyrion looked at the Janos’s body. He did not like the man at all, having found him a slimy bastard who, if intelligence reports were to be believed, had no issue murdering children and babies to improve his station. However, the cause of death by multiple stabs was certainly a little overboard. Tyrion looked at Cersei, who had so far remained uncharacteristically silent so far.

“Nothing to say, have you dear sister?” he asked mockingly.

Cersei glared at him before curtly replying, “Find another City Watch Lord Commander,” then walked out from the room, her crimson skirts trailing behind her as one of the Kingsguard followed closely behind.

Tyrion sighed. “The cause of death?” he asked despite already knowing the answer.

“Multiple stab wounds in the neck and torso, interestingly enough every single laceration could have been fatal,” said Maester Pycelle.

Tyrion sighed impatiently, but he held his tongue and instead chose to nod his head. “So whoever killed him was not some common thief or catspaw,” he said.

“It is very unlikely,” said Maester Pycelle.

“It is more than unlikely, it is simply impossible,” argued Lord Baelish. “This was mostly likely a premeditated attack, or even an assassination.”

As much as he was loathe to ever agree with anything Littlefinger said, Tyrion had to admit that the man had a point. There was no way that every single strike to Janos was a fatal wound without it being done by someone who knew what they were doing. But there was also the fact that Janos’s body had been dumped in front of the Red Keep for anyone to see. No, this was more than just a random killing, or even an assassination. It was a message.

But who was the message for?

* * *

Janos Slynt’s death quickly became the start of a long string of murders all across King’s Landing. It was starting to cause mayhem in the Red Keep, particularly amongst the higher ranking officers and commanders. Janos was just the first death in the City Watch; every other man appointed to the position of the Lord Commander soon met gruesome fates. Not only that, but other men, including the captain of the guard of the Red Keep and dozens of soldiers were turning up dead in the streets, hanging from rooftops or in places where hundreds of people could see. Conveniently every single one of the commanders were suspected of being in the pockets of either Cersei or Littlefinger, and while Tyrion did find it amusing to see two of the most self-professed smartest people in the world losing their minds over what to do, it was giving the Hand a headache as he was running out of people to select for the role of Lord Commander and captain of the guard. Thankfully that man Tyrion had considered replacing Janos, Ser Arnold had taken up the offer, and so far he had not been killed, but that was likely in part due to the fact that it seemed he could not be bought. Cersei kept insisting that new Lord Commander looked familiar, but Tyrion simply dismissed it as his sister’s growing paranoia.

There were not only murders, but soldiers were turning up with missing hands or fingers. When questioned about who hurt them so brutally, they could only say that they had seen a shadowy ghost that mutilated them with blades thin as paper and dark as Valyrian steel. There were no names, no faces, just figures in dark clothing and faces like demons that hunted them. The commonfolk were no better, but all the witnesses agreed that whoever was causing the terrorist acts moved as swiftly and silently as a ghost and could not be pursued.

Tyrion certainly had his hands full. Cersei was furious and Joffrey even more so. The bratty young king was demanding that someone’s head be brought in, but as the witnesses had said, this ‘Ghost,’ was proving to be an elusive person to catch. Houses had been searched, inns and pubs cleared, brothels overturned and still there was no sign or hint as to where the Ghost could be. Whenever a new body was found, the culprit was already long gone. The worst part of it all was that the Ghost was quickly becoming a revered legend amongst the commoners and smallfolk. From what Varys’ little birds had gathered, the Ghost only seemed to attack men who deserved it. Every man who came in with missing limbs had been attacked immediately after attempting to assault a barmaid or kitchen wench, losing the hand that had caused the offence. The ones who turned up dead had done far worse. The Ghost was becoming a symbol of hope and rebellion for the commoners, and Tyrion found this to be a far more dangerous concern than the actual deaths.

He’d already written to his lord father, but Lord Tywin was far too busy fighting back Robb Stark to return to King’s Landing. Cersei was consistently refusing to believe the rumours being spread about the Ghost, which infuriated Tyrion to no end. Cersei believed that the smallfolk were weak and powerless, but her arrogance would be her downfall. The smallfolk outnumbered the combined might of the City Watch and the Lannisters station almost a thousand to one; if they decided to rebel, they would most certainly succeed. Every single small council meeting was spent deliberating more fantastical and ridiculous ideas on how to capture the Ghost, but nothing worked. Tyrion had tried to send out relief parties of soldiers and maids who would provide food and fresh clothing to the denizens of Flea Bottom, and while it was successful, the terrorists acts that constantly struck in various parts of the city were far more effective. Tyrion was quickly running out of ideas and he was growing desperate.

He could not help but think that something was going to change in all of the Seven Kingdoms. Whether it would be for good or ill was still undecided. And of course, Tyrion was right when a month after the attacks began, the bells signaling an invasion began to ring through the air. He woke up from his bed suddenly, alert and feeling slightly frightened and quickly got dressed before making his way to the throne room. He noticed that it was still dark outside.

Upon entering, he saw that Joffrey was sitting upon the Iron Throne, looking mad with fear and anger. To his left, Cersei stood, looking composed though her hands constantly ringing together gave away her true feelings. At the foot of the dais, the entirety of the Kingsguard sans Jaime stood assembled, looking taut as bowstrings with their hands gripping the pommels of their swords. The gathered lords and ladies of the court were all whispering frantically, but Tyrion ignored them as he approached the dais.

“Where have you been?” demanded Cersei in a low hiss as she looked down on Tyrion with contempt.

“My legs are shorter than everyone else’s, so it took me twice as long to get here,” replied Tyrion. “What is going on?”

“What is going on is that a fleet of ships has been spotted coming towards Blackwater Bay!” snapped Joffrey angrily.

Tyrion started. “A fleet? Has Stannis launched his attack?” he questioned.

“Unlikely, my lord,” said Varys, seemingly materialising out of thin air as he approached. “Our latest reports indicate that Stannis is marching to confront his brother in the Stormlands.”

“Then who is attacking? Is it the Ironborn?” asked Tyrion.

“The fleet is completely unknown my lord,” said Lord Baelish. Unlike everyone else, he seemed to be relishing in the panicked atmosphere of the hall.

“Unknown? Who else could be…” Tyrion trailed off as a theory came to his mind. He looked at his nephew and said, “The small council must meet privately to discuss this urgent matter, Your Grace.”

“You presume to command me? I am the _king!_ ” shrieked Joffrey.

“And as the king, you must make sure that the peace is kept, even during times of war,” gritted out Tyrion impatiently. Oh, how he wanted to slap the boy silly right now.

Joffrey looked like he was about to argue, but Cersei quietly urged her son to listen. Reluctantly, Joffrey ordered the small council to meet privately. Ten minutes later, Tyrion sat with Joffrey, Cersei, Varys, Littlefinger and Maester Pycelle in the small council chambers. The new Lord Commander of the City Watch, Ser Arnold stood guard at the door alongside Ser Meryn Trant and Ser Boros Blount of the Kingsguard. On the other side, Sandor Clegane, the Hound had been tasked with watching the outside so that no one could eavesdrop. In spite of there being less people, the tension was just as thick in here as it was in the throne room.

“So, we do not know who commands the fleet or where it comes from,” said Tyrion to open the meeting.

“No, Your Grace,” affirmed Varys. “It appears as if this fleet appeared out of nowhere.”

“They must have come from somewhere,” argued Tyrion. “How many are there?”

“Over one hundred ships have been counted so far my lord, large enough to fit at least a hundred men per ship,” spoke up Ser Arnold from the door.

“Over one hundred?” exclaimed Tyrion. That meant that they were up against over ten thousand soldiers most likely. He could think of dozens of factions and nations in Essos who possessed that many troops, but not all of them had a navy large enough to ship them all over.

“I remember that poor King Robert was worried that the Targaryen girl had amassed a horde of Dothraki to command,” said Baelish. He seemed amused by the whole series of unfortunate events, rather than frightened or stressed.

“The Dothraki would never cross the ocean, they fear it. But that still does not answer my question,” dismissed Tyrion quickly. He looked at Ser Arnold and asked, “Has the City Watch been rallied?”

“My men are almost finished with preparations for the city’s defence,” answered Ser Arnold. He seemed unnaturally calm about this situation as well, slightly putting Tyrion on edge. He dismissed it though, thinking that Ser Arnold was more than likely a war veteran and had experience with sieges and battles. Tyrion was glad at least one person was remaining reasonable.

“Have ravens been dispatched to Lord Tywin for assistance?” asked Tyrion.

“They fly as we speak, my lord,” answered Varys.

Tyrion nodded. “For now, the best we can do is make sure the city and the Red Keep are secure,” he began, “we’ll need to make sure patrols are on full alert. No one is allowed outside of their neighbourhoods unless absolutely necessary, we cannot have the Ghost taking advantage of the impending chaos.”

“Who cares about the peasants? The Red Keep is the place that needs to be fortified,” said Cersei.

“The Red Keep is already filled with hundreds of soldiers willing to lay down their lives for the king,” snapped Tyrion impatiently, “if these invaders manage to get a foothold in the city, it will prove disastrous for us all.”

“I want all of those people on those ships dead!” shouted Joffrey indignantly. “They dare to attack my city? I will have all of their heads mounted on pikes along the city walls!”

“And so you shall my lion,” assured Cersei.

“They have not attacked us yet,” pointed out Tyrion.

“They are an armada, they will attack us eventually,” snapped Cersei.

Tyrion bit back his retort. He knew that Cersei was right, but he wanted to quickly consider all their options. The fleet was here for a reason, perhaps they could be negotiated with?

“We need to see to the disposition of the troops. We are most likely in for a long assault, so we must make sure that we can hold the invaders off long enough for Lord Tywin to receive our message and-“ Tyrion began to say.

He was cut off when outside, a loud whistling sound split the air like air being forced through a tube, only a thousand times louder and far more high-pitched. The dark night was suddenly replaced by a burst of azure blue and purple light. A second later, there was a loud _whoosh,_ followed immediately by an ear-splitting _BOOM_ that shook the entire Red Keep. Tyrion’s head rang as he was blasted off his chair and crashed to the ground. He was vaguely aware that someone else had fallen next to him. Disoriented and hurting, Tyrion grunted as he pushed himself back up onto his stubby feet, using the table next to him as support while he tried getting his bearings. It looked like everyone else had suffered the same fate as he as they picked themselves up. The air reeked of something burning unnaturally, and he could hear groaning coming from the others as well.

“What just…?” Cersei began to say.

“An explosion,” said Tyrion as his mind cleared to a shocking realisation. “The invaders have begun their attack!”

He sprinted quickly over to the nearest window to look outside and gasped in horror. Far down below, part of the wall had been blasted to smithereens by the explosion. Chunks of stone were blasted hundreds of feet away from their original places, and even from where he stood, Tyrion could hear the agonised screams of the unfortunate soldiers caught in the explosion. Looking beyond, he could see that other parts of the city had been hit by the mysterious attack. His clever mind quickly noticed that every spot that had been destroyed was a key strategical location vital for the defence of King’s Landing, and now they were nothing but rubble.

“This was a set up!” cried Tyrion. “They knew where the city was at its weakest!”

“How?” asked Baelish, who for once did not look as immaculate as he always tried to be.

“I do not know!” said Tyrion frantically.

“Perhaps I can help you with that,” said a slightly muffled, yet familiar voice.

Tyrion’s head spun around so quickly he felt his neck crack. Leaning against the side of the wall on the other side of the small council chambers was a masked man. His attire and armour was almost entirely black and grey, with various daggers and hooks hanging from his body like a mural of dark, lethal weapons. The style of the armour was unlike anything Tyrion had ever seen before as well; it was mostly dark leathers and cloth. It looked almost haphazardly put together until he realised that the armour was more for stealth and speed than actual combat. The man’s black hair was tied back with a dark grey headband secured over his forehead, with some loose strands of hair framing his face. The lower half of the man’s face was covered by a dark grey mask of a snarling… well, Tyrion could not be sure what it was exactly but it resembled a demon with long, curled canines. And the swords on his belt, they looked almost exactly like the weapons carried by the YiTish merchants. Tyrion felt his eyes widen. Those men were not merchants, they were spies! They must have been the ones who planted the wildfire and set them off! And this man, he could be none other than the Ghost himself!

Ser Trant and Blount both quickly drew their swords and moved to attack the Ghost, weapons raised to cut the intruder down. Tyrion moved so that the table was between him and the ensuing battle, as did everyone else not holding a weapon. However, Tyrion found himself absolutely mesmerised by the fight. The Ghost was so quick it was almost impossible to see him moving, especially in the dim light of the small council chambers. In a flash, the Ghost drew the longer of his two swords and parried the blows of both the Kingsguard knights expertly. The blade was made of Valyrian steel, once again surprising Tyrion. Who was this man? Out of the corner of his eye he saw that Ser Arnold had not joined the fray. In fact, he looked almost bored by the fight. Tyrion was not the only one who noticed the other knight’s lack of activity.

“What are you doing you oaf? Help kill the monster!” shrieked Cersei.

Ser Arnold regarded her with an indifferent look. “No, I do not think I will,” he replied casually.

“You bastard! I will have your head!” roared Joffrey.

The Hound came barging into the room then, sword drawn. He saw the Ghost fighting Ser Trant and Blount, and was about to move to join, but suddenly Ser Arnold stood in his way.

“Let me be the one to entertain you,” said the knight. Drawing his sword, he attacked the Hound with such finesse and speed the larger man was soon disarmed of his weapon and had a sword at his throat. Tyrion blinked. Sandor Clegane, one of the strongest and skilled warriors of the realm, had been bested by a mere City Watch guard? What was going on? Not only that, but the Ghost drew his second, smaller blade and stabbed upwards right into Ser Blount’s exposed right armpit. When he pulled it out, a torrent of blood gushed out of the wound and Ser Blount screamed before dropping to the stone floor. Ser Meryn did not last much longer after that. In a few seconds, the Ghost had buried the longer of his two blades down into Meryn’s neck with a sickening squelch. Ser Meryn’s eyes widened in horror as the Ghost loomed over him.

“That is what you get for hitting my cousin,” snarled the Ghost. In one fluid motion, he ripped his sword out then swung diagonally down, cleaving Ser Meryn open from his left shoulder to his right hip. As Ser Meryn’s lifeless body dropped to the ground with a wet thud, the Ghost turned around, raised his left arm up and cleaned his bloodied blade with the crook of his elbow. Then he sheathed both his weapons.

“Forgive the mess, my lords and lady, but I had originally hoped the peace talks to be a little more… well, peaceful,” said the Ghost, waving a hand to where the two dead Kingsguard now lay.

“Hound! Kill them!” screamed Joffrey fearfully.

“Your Grace, the Hound is out of the fight,” stated Ser Arnold.

“Do not talk to my son in such a tone. He is the king!” hissed Cersei.

“Forgive me, but you seem to be under the pretense that I was addressing him,” said Ser Arnold. Then he looked at the Ghost and nodded his head. “With the pretender and the small council as our hostages, the Red Keep and the rest of the city will be yours as soon as the fleet lands, Your Grace.”

“The plan was a success then,” said the Ghost with a nod of his head.

Tyrion took a tentative step forward, his hands raised in surrender as he ignored the looks the other small council members gave him. Eyeing the brutalised bodies of Sers Meryn and Blount warily, he asked, “Who are you? You are not Stannis or Renly, or even Robb Stark.”

“We have already met my lord, though I must admit I was not entirely honest about my identity,” said the Ghost. Removing his mask, the Ghost revealed himself to be none other than Jon, the Westerosi merchant from Yi Ti. It suddenly made sense to Tyrion. The blades the Ghost used that definitely matched the cuts and stab wounds found on the bodies of his victims, the strange arrival of a reclusive people looking to expand their trade routes, the fleet outside. By the Old Gods and the New, Tyrion had been played for a fool! He’d suspected that Jon might be behind all the terrorist acts, but in his hubris he’d ruled out the supposed merchant on the basis that Jon did not have the resources to do such a thing.

“Who are you?” demanded Cersei shrilly.

“I am the king you all forgot about,” said Jon in a low voice that spoke volumes of pride and strength. “My name is Jhaegar Targaryen, son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. I am the Ghost of Yi Ti, and I have come with the might of the Golden Empire to take back what is rightfully mine.”


	2. Arthur I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We delve twenty-one years into the past at the end of Robert's Rebellion...

_Twenty-one years ago…_

Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning was the most dangerous and skilled of King Aerys Targaryen’s Kingsguard always felt in control of most situations he found himself in. He’d fought in battles, won tourneys, killed the Smiling Knight and helped destroy the Kingswood Brotherhood. He was a knight of the Kingsguard and was Rhaegar’s best friend and closest confidant. He faced down numerous foes with a calm and collected demeanour, never once wavering in the sight of the worst humanity had to offer.

However Arthur had never had to deal with a sixteen year-old girl giving birth.

Even from outside, several floors down from the top of the Tower of Joy, Lyanna Stark’s screams chilled the Sword of the Morning to the bone. He’d heard women giving birth before, having had to deal with Rhaella Targaryen’s failed pregnancies many a time, but this sounded different. Lyanna was having difficulties in the birthing chamber, he could feel it.

Beside Arthur, Sers Gerold Hightower and Oswell Whent looked calmer than he felt, but their bodies were no less tense. Even they could tell that there was something wrong. Arthur wanted to do something to help, but what could he do? Lyanna had been unreachable for days following the news of Rhaegar’s death at the hands of the Usurper on the Trident, followed by Jaime Lannister’s betrayal after murdering Aerys on his own throne and King’s Landing’s fall to the combined Stark and Lannister battle. Elia, Rhaenys and even tiny Aegon were all dead, murdered by the monster Gregor Clegane. There had not been a smile seen from the small party that hid in the Tower of Joy for weeks now. Surely the grief of Rhaegar’s death had something to do with the complications regarding Lyanna’s labour. Again, what could Arthur do? He was a knight, trained for combat and war. The birthing chamber was not the battlefield he was qualified for in the slightest.

And now, there was a party led by Ned Stark coming its way. Ashara had warned Arthur via raven that she’d sent the man she loved to them, meaning they were prepared for the inevitable confrontation. Gerold and Oswell were both convinced that Lord Stark would not care what happened so long as his sister was safe with him once more. Arthur did not want any confrontation to happen at all, especially with Lyanna and the future monarch of Westeros’s life in peril. Arthur would do his duty if it came to it of course, but he would hate to be the one to break even more unbearable news to the poor girl if he survived.

What would Lord Stark do if he learned the truth of Lyanna’s disappearance? By all accounts Ned Stark was as honourable as men came, even more so if the rumours were to be believed. Surely he would not risk the life of his sister and new nephew (Lyanna insisted that her child was a boy). He did not possess the wolf’s blood like his dead older brother Brandon and sister. Arthur had only seen Ned Stark from afar in the past, but he could not be sure. Perhaps he would know for himself when he finally did meet the Lord of Winterfell in a few minutes time.

Another scream, this one louder and more agonised than before rattled Arthur far more than the previous screams. He winced and looked up at the tower, praying to all the gods he knew of to let the pain cease. Gerold seemed to notice and offered the Sword of the Morning a tight smile.

“She will be fine,” he said, though even he sounded as if he did not believe it.

“She needs a maester,” grunted Arthur.

“It is too late for that now, Lord Stark is almost upon us,” said Oswell, gesturing with a jerk of head towards a cloud of dust coming ever closer. The three Kingsguard readied themselves, dispensing of their white cloaks and making sure their swords were close at hand. Arthur gave his legendary greatsword, Dawn a few swings to make sure his arms were limber and warm. After a grim nod to his sworn brothers, the three of them spread out slightly, with Gerold in the middle. A few minutes later, Ned Stark and six other men appeared on horses. The party stopped a few metres away and dismounted before approaching slowly. Arthur could see that all of them looked nervous but ready for a fight, with Lord Stark looking the most grim of all.

“I looked for you on the Trident,” said Lord Stark, his voice gravelly with the thick Northern accent.

“We were not there,” said Gerold.

“Woe to the Usurper if we had been,” said Oswell.

“When King’s Landing fell, Jaime Lannister slew your king with a golden sword, and I wondered where you were,” continued Lord Stark.

“Far away,” said Gerold, “or Aerys would yet sit the Iron Throne, and our false brother would burn in seven hells.”

Arthur shot a quick glance at his Lord Commander, frowning slightly at the slight towards Ser Jaime. While he did not disagree with Gerold, he also believed that there had to be a good reason why Jaime slew the very man he swore to protect. Arthur could also feel the tension increasing as the men’s tempers began to wear at the seams. This was not what he wanted. Lyanna was in the middle of delivering her first child and things needed to be calmer, especially if he wanted to save both her and the baby.

“We need not fight, Lord Stark,” said Arthur quickly. He was aware that all the attention was fixed on him now, but he ignored it.

“Where is my sister?” demanded Lord Stark with righteous anger.

“Here, in the Tower of Joy,” answered Arthur. He could feel Gerold and Oswell’s eyes on him, so he quickly shot them a look to silently say that he could handle this. “She is in grave danger however.”

“My sister has been in danger ever since your prince kidnapped her,” spat Lord Stark.

“Lyanna Stark was not-“ Arthur was cut off by yet another gut-wrenching scream from the top of the building, this was filled with far more pain than the last one.

“What are you doing to her?!” yelled Lord Stark. He and his men drew their swords and readied their stances.

“Wait, please! We do not wish to fight!” pleaded Arthur. He held up one hand as a sign of peace while keeping the other firmly gripped around the hilt of Dawn, just in case. Gerold and Oswell, like the Northern party, also readied their stances. This was getting out of hand very quickly.

“Move, or die,” warned Lord Stark.

“Please, Lyanna is in danger,” insisted Arthur.

“FROM YOU!” roared Lord Stark.

“Ned? Ned!” screamed the voice of Lyanna.

“Stand aside,” said Lord Stark.

“We cannot do that,” said Gerold.

“I said MOVE!”

“No.”

“Oh by the Seven, let him pass!” shouted Arthur. His own temper was flaring up now, but he quickly reined it in upon seeing Gerold’s surprised yet furious look. “He is the sister of the princess, he would not harm her!”

“But the-“ Oswell began to say.

“The princess?” repeated Lord Stark. He had lowered his sword a little, his expression changed from anger to confusion.

“Let him up, she needs her brother,” said Arthur to Gerold.

“If he harms her or the…” began Gerold.

“I will not,” swore Lord Stark emphatically.

“I will go up with him as well,” added Arthur. Gerold seemed satisfied with that, but he and Oswell kept a wary eye on the other six Northerners, their swords staying in their hands.

Arthur led Lord Stark up the Tower of Joy with an urgency that kept their feet light and swift upon the stairs, traveling up them speedily. The closer they got, the clearer they could hear the pained pants from the top room. Arthur paused at the closed door and looked at Lord Stark. He was not afraid to admit that he was terrified of what he might see, so he took a deep breath, swallowed and opened the door. His nose was instantly assaulted by the combined stench of blood and sweat. Arthur felt his body freeze at the sight of Lyanna, looking in the utmost unbearable agony as she panted heavily. The handmaid they’d brought with them was crouching between her legs, whispering soft words of encouragement, having not noticed the two men enter. Arthur felt his whole body freeze at the sight as his breath caught in his throat.

Lord Stark, however had no such issues seeing his sister obviously so pained as he rushed forward, dropping his sword to the floor with a loud clang that alerted both Lyanna and the handmaid of their new company before rushing over to the side of the bed.

“Lyanna,” said Lord Stark in a choked voice.

“Ned? Is that you?” asked Lyanna wearily. She sounded exhausted.

“Aye, it is me,” said Lord Stark. Arthur managed to recover and closed the door behind him before moving to stand at the side of the room where he could keep an eye on everyone. He would not ruin the reunion of the two siblings, so he bowed his head slightly and made sure no one would notice his company.

“I did not think I would see you again,” said Lyanna.

“I came looking for you as soon as I could,” said Lord Stark.

“Seeing you here, it gives me strength,” Lyanna smiled at her older brother, then then out another cry. “It hurts Ned,” she cried.

“What does? What is wrong?” asked Lord Stark in a panicked voice. It was the same voice Arthur remembered Jaime making whenever he was forced to guard the door to Aerys’ room whenever the mad king vented his sadistic torture on Rhaella. Gods, Arthur had been a fool for being so blunt about his duty to the younger knight.

“Just one more push, my lady and then the baby will be free,” said the handmaid.

“The baby?” said Lord Stark. He looked over his shoulder at Arthur, and the knight could only shake his head.

“I will answer your questions later my lord, but right now your sister needs you,” he said.

Lord Stark did not look pleased, but he nodded his head and with his bare hand, began stroking Lyanna’s clammy hair and whispered something in her ear. Lyanna nodded, putting on a scared yet determined face as she took a few deep breaths.

“Three, two, one, push!” said the handmaid.

Lyanna let out an agonising scream as she exerted all of her energy into the push. Lord Stark’s face grew pale, and to Arthur’s own shame he had to look away. There was a wet sound, followed by a brief silence before it was broken by the sound of a newborn’s cry. Arthur quickly looked up just as the handmaid used a clean knife to cut the umbilical cord and wrapped the baby up in white linen rags. Lyanna sank into the bed, her energy spent while Lord Stark could only look on in horror. The handmaid, to Arthur’s surprise approached him with the baby.

“It is a boy,” she declared.

A boy? Arthur blinked in shock. Rhaegar had been so sure that his third child would be a girl, his own Visenya. But then again, the fallen prince had always put too much stock into obscure visions and prophecies. It was not the first time that he would have been wrong.

“The new king of the Seven Kingdoms,” whispered Arthur. The handmaid nodded, then held out the bundle to him. Arthur sheathed Dawn over his back, then took the baby. The newborn prince was so small and fragile in his armoured arms, that he did not know what to do. But as he looked down at the baby, he noticed that it looked nothing like Rhaegar. It had a small tuft of dark hair at the top of his head that was still wet with birth fluid, and when he opened his eyes Arthur saw that they were black. The child was all Stark, right down to the somber look on its face as it stared back up at Arthur. Rhaegar had never been so wrong, thought Arthur.

“My… my son… where is he?” asked Lyanna. Arthur looked up and saw that Lyanna was looking around with a tired expression on her face, but her eyes were surprisingly alert. He walked over, cradling the baby carefully.

“He is here Lyanna,” he said. Lyanna looked up at him, then extended her arms out. Arthur offered the child to his mother who took it. She looked down and smiled at her son with a loving look.

“He is perfect,” she said quietly. “I will call you… Jhaegar, after your father and the strong name of the North.”

“Jhaegar,” repeated Arthur quietly. It was indeed a strong name. Jhaegar let out a soft cry and began to fidget, and by some motherly instinct, Lyanna slowly pulled down the front of her sweaty shirt, making Arthur and Lord Stark both look away quickly while she fed her baby. The two men took a few steps away from the bed while the wetnurse started working on cleaning the mess left behind by the birth, and Arthur was very aware of Lord Stark’s intense glare.

“Explain. Now,” commanded the Stark.

“Rhaegar never kidnapped Lyanna,” said Arthur in a hushed voice. “Rhaegar and Lyanna had been meeting in secret every night during the tourney at Harrenhal, and afterwards they exchanged letters with each other for several months. They were in love.”

“In love? But Lyanna was betrothed to Robert,” protested Lord Stark.

“A betrothal that she tried countless times to escape,” argued Arthur. “Robert is a known whoremonger with many women all across the Seven Kingdoms. He even already has several bastards to some of them.”

“But Robert loved Lyanna. He would have changed his ways once they were married,” said Lord Stark.

Arthur shook his head at the young lord’s complete naivety. “My lord, Robert Baratheon is many things, but a man capable of change is not one of them,” he said.

Lord Stark looked like he was going to strike Arthur, but he sighed and shook his head. “This child, it is Rhaegar’s, isn’t it?” he asked, changing the subject.

“Rhaegar annulled his marriage to Elia Martell, who agreed to it upon the condition that Aegon would remain the rightful heir to the Iron Throne,” said Arthur. “He and Lyanna were wed by the High Septon in a secret ceremony before coming here.”

“The child is legitimate?” asked Lord Stark. Arthur nodded.

“He will be in grave danger once Robert discovers that he is Rhaegar’s,” he said.

“He will not harm the child if he knows it is Lyanna’s as well,” said Lord Stark vehemently.

“Your _friend_ ,” spat Arthur as a sudden surge of rage filled him, “has already commended the deaths of two children simply because they had Targaryen blood in them. This entire war has been because Robert’s hate and anger for Rhaegar was stronger than the supposed love he feels for Lyanna.”

“Do not besmirch my friend’s honour,” snarled Lord Stark.

“Do you deny it?” challenged Arthur, rounding on the younger man fiercely.

Lord Stark’s eye twitched in fury, but he remained silent.

“Please don’t fight,” pleaded Lyanna weakly. Arthur turned around to see that she had finished feeding Jhaegar, who had fallen asleep in her arms. She also looked to be on the verge of falling asleep herself, so Arthur signalled for the handmaid to take the baby away for now. Lyanna protested weakly, but eventually conceded as exhaustion overtook her and she fell into unconsciousness. The handmaid approached, cradling Jhaegar in her arms.

“The birth was very difficult, so she is very weak,” she stated. Arthur nodded, and the handmaid went to the opposite corner of the room where a wooden chair was and sat down. Arthur turned around and looked at the sleeping Lyanna for a long time. The handmaid had done a good job of cleaning up the mess left behind, though there were still a few noticeable spots of blood and water that was half-dried.

“We cannot afford to stay here,” said Arthur. “The Usurper will likely send more men out to find her soon.”

“She is too weak to move,” argued the handmaid.

Arthur grit his teeth. That was not good enough. The Usurper would not stop until he found Lyanna, and that would put the baby in danger. They needed to find a place far from the Usurper’s reach, a place where Jhaegar could be raised in relative peace until the time to take back his throne would come, preferably with an army at his back.

“Is there a way we can move Lyanna and the baby today without hurting them?” asked Arthur.

“Where would you have them go?” asked Lord Stark.

“As far away from Westeros as possible,” said Arthur.

Lord Stark’s eyes widened for a moment before shaking his head. “You cannot leave, you will be on the run,” he protested.

“We will be on the run if we stay here regardless. At least if we are somewhere like the Free Cities, we may have a fighting chance of survival,” said Arthur.

“I could hide you in the North, keep you safe in Winterfell,” said Lord Stark.

Arthur actually laughed at that. “I and my sworn brothers would be recognised in seconds by your bannermen and lady wife,” he said, “not to mention that the Usurper will come for you the moment he realises Lyanna is with you, which will only put Jhaegar in danger.”

“I can claim Jhaegar as my own son,” suggested Lord Stark stubbornly.

“And make him live a life as a bastard?” scoffed Arthur. “He deserves better than that.”

“He deserves to _live._ ”

“And he will. He will have three of the Kingsguard watching over him as well as his mother.”

Lord Stark’s eyes widened in realisation. “You do not mean to take Lyanna with you as well?” he exclaimed.

“You would separate a mother from her child?” retorted Arthur. He might be a Kingsguard, but he’d seen the special connection a mother had with her children enough to know that what Lord Stark was proposing was a terrible idea.

“Lyanna could stay in Winterfell,” continued Lord Stark.

“The Usurper will come for her, and what of the child?” argued Arthur.

“Again, I could raise him as my bastard son,” insisted Lord Stark.

“With all due respect my lord, but that is a terrible idea.”

Lord Stark looked ready to argue, but then he sighed. “What would you have me do then? I cannot simply abandon my kin,” he said tiredly.

“For now, you have no choice,” said Arthur.

“And what about me? Do I not get a chance to speak my mind about what is best for my son and I?” asked a voice behind the two men.

Arthur and Lord Stark both turned around to see Lyanna was awake and looking at the two of them with narrowed eyes. She still looked exhausted, but some colour had returned to her face and she seemed more alert. Not only that, but she looked annoyed. Arthur swallowed slightly. He might be the deadliest of the Kingsguard, but even he was terrified of Lyanna Stark whenever she was upset about something. Having put up with her and her mood swings due to her pregnancy for month was enough experience for him to never want to get on her bad side ever again.

“Where is Jhaegar?” she asked. The handmaid stood up from the chair and handed the baby over to his mother, where Lyanna quickly tucked him closer to her body. She looked down at the sleeping Jhaegar with soft fondness before facing the two men, her expression once again hardening.

“I will not risk the life of my son by staying here in Westeros,” declared Lyanna firmly.

“Lyanna, you will be safe with me in the North,” said Lord Stark.

“No I won’t,” said Lyanna vehemently. “Robert will not stop until he has me, and I refuse to be the wife of a man who cannot be faithful to his wife.” Then her eyes widened and she blushed. Arthur hid his smirk behind a cough. Running off with an already-married man had been exactly what she had done, after all.

“Regardless,” continued Lyanna, “Robert will not hesitate to kill Jhaegar. He has already done the same to Rhaenys and Aegon, I will not let it happen to my son. Arthur is right, we must flee across the Narrow Sea and wait until it is safe to return.”

“Robert is king now, he will see reason if you explain things to him,” said Lord Stark.

“Ned, I love you. Truly I do but you are blinded by the love you have for the man who tore apart the Seven Kingdoms,” said Lyanna. “Robert will have all of our heads if he finds out about my marriage to Rhaegar. I must flee to survive.”

“But…” protested Lord Stark weakly.

“But nothing. I will raise Jhaegar as best as I can, he will be protected by the finest knights in the Seven Kingdoms and we will return with fire and blood to take back what is rightfully his,” said Lyanna. Her voice had raised slightly as she became more passionate in her speech, making Jhaegar fidget in her arms slightly.

Lord Stark sighed and said, “There is no stopping you, is there?”

“No brother, there never has been,” answered Lyanna in a softer, but no less determined voice.

Lord Stark gave his sister a weary smile and sighed once more before running his hand through his hair. “Robert will send assassins after you to kill Jhaegar and bring you home,” he said. “And you are talking about starting another war when you return. Robert’s fury will be reignited if you do.”

“Let his anger stir, we will be ready,” scoffed Lyanna.

“You do not know what you are getting into,” warned Lord Stark.

“We do not,” agreed Arthur, placing his hand over his heart, “but on my honour, I will make sure that the king and his mother are protected, at the cost of my own life if need be.”

Lord Stark gave a slow nod. Arthur meant it. He would protect them with his life. Jhaegar was the hope of the Seven Kingdoms. And Arthur would make sure that Jhaegar would not stray from the righteous path like Aerys and Rhaegar had. He would make sure that the baby would grow up to have a level head on his shoulders and with a kind heart.

* * *

A plan was formed. After convincing Lord Stark that Lyanna needed to leave, the other Kingsguard and some of the Northmen were brought up to discuss a plan of action. The most obvious thing was that Lyanna needed to escape across the Narrow Sea, of which Lord Stark promised them a ship and enough coin to get them all the way to the Shadowlands if they wanted to. One of the Northmen, a short fellow by the name of Howland Reed had travelled alone to a town a few hours away to fetch a wagon and supplies to get them to Sunspear. When he returned, the wagon was packed and made comfortable enough for the still-weak Lyanna and Jhaegar to lay without fear of being jostled.

Lord Stark offered three of his men who volunteered to protect their lady and her son, who would accompany and protect Jhaegar as if he were their own kin while the rest would return to the North. The story would be that Lyanna had died of a sickness, and the three Kingsguard and Northmen would were with her would have died in the rescue attempt. Lord Stark planned to tear down the Tower of Joy and erect seven graves, where he would claim the bodies would be laid to rest.

When the time finally came for everyone to go their separate ways, the farewell between Lyanna and her older brother was incredibly sad. Lyanna was still so weak that the wetnurse they were bringing with them until Sunspear, a young woman by the name of Wylla had to hold the young widow’s arm to make sure she would not fall over. Ser Oswell was holding Prince- no, King Jhaegar awkwardly with one arm, the other hand gripping the hilt of his sword tightly as he eyed the Northerners distrustfully. Ser Oswell was a good man, and as true a knight as any, but his grim nature and automatic distrust of anyone not wearing the white cloak of the Kingsguard could be a little tiresome at times. At least he could be counted to protect the new king.

“You will promise to keep in contact with me?” asked Lord Stark, looking at his sister hopefully.

“You know I cannot. It is too dangerous,” said Lyanna. “But I promise to be as safe as I can and that I will one day return, that is all I can offer you for now.”

Arthur saw how Lord Stark nodded in defeat, swallowing thickly. He looked saddened, as any older brother had a right to be when parting from their sister. It reminded the knight of his own sister Ashara, who up until recent events, he believed would actually marry the Stark man standing before him. And that gave Arthur an idea.

Stepping forward, Arthur unclasped the leather belt over his shoulder, pulling it so that he could clasp the sheath that contained his legendary sword Dawn. He held it out to Lord Stark, whose eyes widened in shock.

“Take it back to Starfall,” said Arthur. “Taking Dawn with me will make a great many people recognise me, even across the Narrow Sea. It will put us all in danger.”

“You… you wish for me to take it to Starfall? To Ashara?” said Lord Stark. Arthur noticed how the young lord did not use Ashara’s title.

“Do not tell her that I lived,” he warned, “the less people who know the truth, the better it will be for all of us. King Jhaegar _must_ be protected at all costs.”

Lord Stark nodded as he cradled the weapon carefully, like he was holding the baby and not a sword. Lord Stark then put Dawn over his back and untied the belt around his own waist before offering it to Arthur.

“Take this then. It may not be as good as Dawn, but it will serve you well,” he said.

Arthur took the offered sword and drew it, giving the steel sword a few practice swings to test its weight. It was not Dawn, but the blade was made out of the finest of castle-forged steel and would serve its purpose. Arthur nodded gratefully before stepping back.

“We must be off,” said Gerold. He looked grim and tired as he spoke, providing a visual representation of the atmosphere of the farewell.

Lyanna and Lord Stark said their farewells before the young girl was tenderly helped up into the wagon, like she was as fragile as glass. After that, the party of the baby king were travelling east, towards Sunspear where they could make their escape. As Arthur looked in the wagon and saw Lyanna cradling Jhaegar, he made a silent vow to do whatever it took to protect the two of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will most likely come in two weeks' time from today, so stay tuned for more!


	3. Arthur II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From now on all updates will occur every second Wednesday AEST in order for me to be able to keep up with myself. I realised yesterday that reviewing, rewriting and reviewing takes almost as much time as actually writing the chapter lol.

The boat continued to rock steadily as it sailed on the seas. The sun was bright and hot on Arthur’s skin, and the skin on his nose had long since started to peel away, leaving flakes of the dead stuff to form on the bridge annoyingly. Arthur was thankful that he had traded his Kingsguard armour for some lighter clothing back in Volantis, or else he would have been cooked into nothingness months ago.

Yet in spite of the constant good weather they’d been having, not all was well. In fact, things had taken a terrible turn for the worst ever since the ship they’d been sailing on had left Volantis. First there had been a terrible storm that resulted in Ser Martyn Cassel being tossed overboard and swallowed up by the raging waves of the Smoking Sea. There had been a small break when they’d stopped off in New Ghis for supplies, but then once they’d set sail once more towards Qarth, the ship had been damaged by a raiding pirate ship that had tried to take slaves to sell in Meereen. Were it not for the fact that their ship had Arthur, his two Kingsguard brethren and the two surviving Northmen, the pirates would have succeeded in their malevolent goals. But the ship had been damaged, making the journey much longer than originally planned.

But then, a mysterious illness broke out amongst the ship’s crew. It claimed over half of them, including Lord Theo Wull, the captain, who was a Targaryen sympathiser, leaving just the Westerosi refugees and a few others alive. Arthur, Gerold, Oswell and the one Northmen had to take up the task of trying to help keep the ship afloat with the goal of making it to Qarth before they died.

That was until the most experienced sailor and first mate of the ship, a dark-skinned Summer Islander named Adewale who told Arthur that he suspected the ship had sailed past Qarth altogether. For the Sword of the Morning, that had been devastating news to hear. They’d gone right past their final destination, somehow slipping right through the Straits of Qarth and were heading further east than any non-trading Westerosi had ever gone. The only place that Arthur could even recall being east of Qarth were Asshai and the Shadow Lands, a dreadful, haunted place that was not fit for a baby king to grow up in, if the stories were to be believed. There were other places as well, such as Yi Ti, a place that Arthur knew even less of compared to the Shadow Lands. But Yi Ti seemed like a safe enough place based on what little he had heard, if they managed to get there without dying.

Speaking of kings, Young Jhaegar was growing up quickly and seemed to be the only person onboard not affected by the series of unfortunate events that plagued them time and time again. He was strong for a baby, much stronger than Aegon had ever been. The journey had been going on for quite some time and though Arthur could not be certain he was positive it was at least nine months, maybe more. Lyanna had taking to calling her son Jon, calling it a strong Northern name that was still similar to his birth name. Calling him by his true name was dangerous, the Kingsguard and Mark Ryswell, the last remaining Northman all agreed and so they had taken to calling their king Jon as well. Jon was a happy, if a quiet and sober child who was quick to learn. At least, Arthur assumed so. He had little experience with children, but Jon’s mannerisms, even as an infant reminded him so much of Rhaegar’s sober nature. Lyanna however, insisted that he was more like Lord Ned Stark, who was known in the Seven Kingdoms as ‘the Quiet Wolf.’ A fitting name, one that could also suit Jon if his last name was Stark also. Instead, Arthur had taken to calling Jon the ‘Quiet Dragon’ instead.

Behind Arthur, he heard footsteps tapping against the ship’s deck, followed by a raspy cough. He did not need to turn around to know who it was, because he could recognise that cough anywhere.

“How fares the king and princess?” asked Gerold.

“Well enough. Both are resting at the moment,” answered Arthur.

“Good,” said Gerold before letting out another hacking cough. Arthur looked to his Lord Commander in concern, but the older man brushed it off. “It is nothing,” he said.

“You are unwell,” said Arthur.

“It is just my age finally starting to catch up to me,” assured Gerold. “I have not been in contact with any of the infected on the ship, and they do not cough.”

Arthur quietly conceded the point, however he was still concerned. He looked at the rugged state of the ship, how the sails were torn, the paint chipped and pieces of wood broken. “I worry we may not make it to wherever we are going,” he muttered.

“So do I,” admitted Gerold. “We are lost in the middle of a sea none of us have been to surrounded by strangers with no destination on a broken ship. It is quite difficult for us to uphold our oaths when we do not know or understand our own fates yet.”

Arthur let out a snort at that. “Perhaps we should have stayed in the Free Cities,” he said.

“We would have been closer to the Usurper’s reach if we had,” reminded Gerold.

“I know,” sighed Arthur. He ran a hand through his hair, which had not been cut since before he had fled Westeros so now it was down to his shoulders. His dark purple eyes glinted in the sun. “It is truly frightening to be confronted with the unknown.”

“On that brother, we can both agree,” said Gerold. He coughed once more, this time bringing his hand up to cover his mouth before straightening up. “It is my turn for guard duty, so I suppose I should relieve Oswell now,” he said. The old knight clapped Arthur on the shoulder once before turning and heading back to the captain’s quarters, leaving Arthur alone once more to his thoughts.

Thoughts. They were a scary thing if left unchecked. Arthur was finding himself making sure that his imagination did not wander too far more and more these days with nothing to do. His mind often drifted back to home, of the past and the present. What was going on in the Seven Kingdoms now that the Targaryens were no longer in power? Where were Viserys and Rhaella? Had Rhaella given birth to her third child if she was still alive? Was Ashara alive and well? Arthur hoped that she had not been punished for being Elia Martell’s friend and handmaiden. If she had, then the Usurper would pay even more than he already owed. Arthur thought of Sers Barristan and Jaime next. Their betrayals hurt far more than he was willing to admit out loud. Ser Barristan, one of the truest knights Arthur had the pleasure of fighting alongside had proven to be little more than a turncloak. Rhaegar’s body had barely been cold when the old knight had sworn his allegiance to the Usurper. And Ser Jaime. Arthur felt that the young knight’s betrayal hurt even more, and that he was partially to blame for what happened. It was he who had knighted the Lannister boy and told Rhaegar and Gerold that he would make an excellent addition to the Kingsguard Brotherhood. Only for Jaime to murder Aerys in cold blood with his own sword. Arthur knew that Jaime struggled to find the line between protecting the realm and protecting the king. But Jaime was also sincere in all of his actions and desire to serve and protect as any knight should. His sudden turning made no sense.

Thinking of the future was even more terrifying. What happened next? Where were they going? Could Arthur and the other Kingsguard protect their king, to let him live to take back what was rightfully his? Arthur shook his head from those thoughts. He’d spent enough time dwelling on them to last him the rest of his lifetime. What mattered was the here and now. Tomorrow’s problems could wait until tomorrow.

A few of the healthy crew members came onto the deck, along with Mark Ryswell, who was holding his great big axe. The Northman sat down in a corner in the shade and began to sharpen the blade with a whetstone. Arthur respected the man for his cheerful nature as well as his talent wielding that axe. If he was not so set in his Northern ways which included rejecting the Seven as his religion, Arthur would have recommended to Gerold that he be made a member of the Kingsguard for his skill and undying loyalty to Lyanna and her son. Arthur wondered what it was about the Starks that made their people so fiercely loyal to them. He’d seen glimpses of it in Ned Stark with his unbreakable honour and courage, and in Lyanna’s wolf’s blood that she was so proud of flaunting. Even though he was just a babe, Jon seemed more Stark than Targaryen.

As the day went by, Arthur stayed where he stood, watching the vast expanse of water while the sounds of Mark’s whetstone against his axe and the sea shanties sung by the remaining sailors continued on. When the sun began to set in the west, Arthur wondered if the Seven Kingdoms were okay. Was his sister looking at the same sun?

Gerold returned just as the final rays of sunlight were disappearing, making way for the dark tapestry of the night. The heavens were bright in the firmament this night as the celestial lights flickered above the ship. Arthur did not stay to admire the view though, as it was his turn to guard Lyanna and Jon. He went to the captain’s quarters, where he found Lyanna bouncing Jon on her lap as he chewed on his chubby fist. When Lyanna saw Arthur enter she gave him a warm smile. He returned it and sat down in what had come to be jokingly known as, ‘the Kingsguard’s chair,’ because it was the same seat all three of them and Mark Ryswell sat in when they were on guard duty.

“Jon was asking for you,” said Lyanna.

“Was he now?” said Arthur. He let out a small scoff. Jon was not quite a year old and the only intelligible thing he had said so far was “Ma” and "up." Lyanna could be humorous in that regard though.

Lyanna nodded her head seriously. “He always gets fussy whenever he wants to see you,” she said. As if he was responding, Jon let out a happy gurgle and spread his arms out wide as he looked at Arthur. Arthur knew what that meant, so he stood up, walked over and picked up the boy before returning to his seat and put Jon on his lap, one arm holding him upright by his fat waist. Jon let out a delighted squeal, which made Arthur’s face split into a smile.

In truth, Arthur delighted in these moments with Jon. Despite being a rather quiet baby, the young king was always happy to be surrounded by those who cared for him. The story that the refugees had agreed upon was that Lyanna was a widow whose husband had died in the war (technically true), and in order to take care of her Arthur, Oswell and Gerold were her dead husband’s brothers and uncle. It was not too hard a story to sell as everyone was familiar enough with each other that they could act like a family fairly easily, even if none of them looked anything alike. Well, At least not Oswell and Gerold. They were Andals through and through with their blonde hair (These days however Gerold’s hair was mostly grey) and blue eyes. Arthur was a Dayne, descended from the First Men so he looked similar enough to Mark and Lyanna with the exception of his dark violet eyes.

But here, in the cabin playing with Jon, Arthur could imagine just for a moment that he truly was the boy’s uncle. Rhaegar had been his best friend, brothers in every way but blood. And he had grown fond of Lyanna, who reminded him so much of Ashara with her fiery spirit and cleverness with words. In a better world, Arthur would have been taking care of Jon in a bright, sunny room in the Red Keep alongside his half-siblings, not in a dark and dingy cabin on a half-wrecked ship bound for nowhere. But, just for a small moment, Arthur could pretend everything was as it should have been.

Jon clapped his meaty hands together, bringing Arthur out of his dream. The little one was staring up at him with his big dark eyes that were entirely Northern, hardly a trace of his Valyrian roots in him. Arthur supposed that as the boy grew into his body more, his father’s side of the family would appear more.

“Jon likes you more than the others, you know,” said Lyanna.

Arthur looked up at the young widow and grinned. “I suppose being the favourite uncle is the greatest honour of all,” he japed.

“Just as long as I remain his favourite above you and everyone else, I do not really care who else he likes,” laughed Lyanna.

Arthur chuckled as well before returning his attention to Jon. He played with the boy, entertaining him with his large hands that Jon took pleasure of chewing on with his toothless mouth, coating them in wet saliva. Arthur didn’t mind though, a child’s spit on his hands was much more preferable than a man’s blood any day of the week. However, within an hour Jon’s playing began to slow as he rubbed at his eyes and yawned more and more. The baby was getting tired, and after one, drawn out yawn Arthur decided that it was time to return Jon back to his mother. He handed him over to Lyanna, who pulled at the collar of her shirt to feed Jon, making Arthur look away as he felt the tips of his ears warm up. Again he was reminded of how he could kill a man without batting an eye, but in the face of a woman tending to her child all courage left him.

Lyanna let out a small grunt to let Arthur know she was done, and he looked away from the wall he had been staring at for the last ten minutes just as Lyanna was lifting her collar up once more. Jon was fast asleep, his light breathing the only sound other than the creaking of the ship as it drifted on the waves. Arthur was feeling himself grow a little tired, but what he felt was nothing compared to how Lyanna was suddenly looking. Lyanna was a lot healthier now, though she still had her bouts of sickness. The first few weeks in exile had been terrifying as there had been several occasions where Lyanna had fallen so ill Arthur had feared that she would die, only to come back from the brink. Arthur and the Kingsguard had taken to watching her day and night (as was their duty regardless) but to new extremes. They couldn’t afford having their princess die, not when their king needed his mother more than anyone else. Yet in spite of doing much better now, Lyanna was still prone to getting tired far quicker than she should be, given her young age.

Arthur twisted in his seat, adjusted where his sword was resting so that the cross guard was not digging into his ribs as he watched Lyanna slowly drift off to sleep, her baby still in her arms. Sweet Lyanna and little Jon, two people bound to live a life they were not meant for all because of the foolishness actions of one man. Rhaegar may have been Arthur’s best friend, but the former Sword of the Morning thought that the dead Crown Prince had crossed far too many lines in his mad quest to see his visions of prophecies fulfilled. Arthur snorted quietly. A song of Ice and Fire, the Prince that was Promised, all of it was little more than ridiculous stories that were told to children. But Rhaegar believed in them, spent most of his time dedicated to researching it. Because he had spent so much time chasing dreams and prophecies, the realm had bled. Because Rhaegar had decided that he needed his third head of the dragon, thousands were dead. Because Rhaegar wanted his Visenya to his Aegon and Rhaenys, he had run away with Lyanna Stark at the expense of leaving his first wife and eldest two children in the clutches of his mad father. Because Rhaegar took Lyanna without telling anyone else, Lyanna and her only child were on the run with the three remaining Kingsguard loyal to their true king while a whoremongering pretender sat on the Iron Throne.

All because Rhaegar put too much stock into words and prophecies with little meaning, he lay dead at the bottom of the Trident.

* * *

Oswell barged into the cabin, his hair and beard tangled and the strings of his shirt loose so that his hairy chest was in full view. He was panting, his eyes wild and he looked almost excited to see Arthur and Lyanna. Arthur stopped sharpening his sword as he looked at his sworn brother.

“What is it?” he asked.

“We’ve spotted land,” breathed Oswell.

Arthur heard Lyanna gasp, while Arthur completely forgot he was holding a blade as he stood up. “Truly?” he said. When Oswell nodded in confirmation, Arthur added, “Do we know what landmass it is?”

“Adewale believes that we are approaching Yi Ti,” answered Oswell, then in a lower grumble added, “And about damn time too. I’m getting sick of getting sea sick.”

Arthur grinned at the other knight before sheathing his sword. He’d only managed to sharpen one side of it, but he made a mental note to sharpen the rest of it before they arrived in Yi Ti. He was about to follow Oswell until he noticed that Lyanna had picked up Jon and was making to follow as well.

“Princess, I would recommend you stay here,” said Arthur.

Lyanna gave him a look that instantly reminded the knight of his own mother whenever he had been caught doing something he should not have been doing as a child. He knew better than to argue, especially seeing as Lyanna was all she-wolf and was holding Jon, who seemed to automatically give her immunity to anything the Kingsguard suggested. It was infuriating.

“Fine,” sighed Arthur. He moved to the side to let Lyanna through the door first while Oswell continued to take the lead. Arthur noticed the smirk on the other knight’s face and sent him a warning glare, which was pointedly ignored.

Oswell led Arthur, Lyanna and Jon up to the quarterdeck, where Gerold, Mark and Adewale were already waiting, their gazes focused on the horizon. Arthur made sure Lyanna was comfortable as she could be, but she looked mostly unbothered by the short journey. In fact, she and Jon both looked rather refreshed as the salty sea winds blew over them, making Lyanna’s braided hair sway slightly. Jon was looking around at everything he could see, his eyes wide with the wonder only a babe could possess. Arthur turned his attention away from the princess and her son to peer over the horizon, where he saw it.

A landmass of green as far as the eye could see, stretching across like a never-ending line. But right in the centre, just above where the ship’s figurehead was pointing was a city that was easily a hundred times the size of King’s Landing, maybe even larger. Arthur could not see much from this distance, but he could already tell that the city would be grander than anything he had ever seen before.

“The city of Yin, Yi Ti’s capital,” announced Adewale in his deep, exotic voice.

“Have you been here before?” asked Arthur.

“Many times,” said Adewale with a nod of his head. “Trade here is good across Essos and the Seven Kingdoms. Yin is one of the oldest cities in the world, a place rich in YiTish culture. The God-Emperor rules from a palace larger than all of King’s Landing, supposedly with a hundred wives and concubines and holds more power in his hand than the king of Westeros and great houses of the Free Cities combined. Yin is home to some of the most beautiful and exotic people in the known world, especially the _geisha_ and _kisaeng_.” Adewale said that last past with a suggestive grin.

“What of their armies, their military strength?” questioned Gerold.

“One of the greatest in the world,” said Adewale, “Not even the dragonlords of the Valyrian Freehold could conquer them. There is a reason why Yi Ti has existed since before the Long Night. It is because of the might of their armies that have kept invaders at bay, along with the deep jungles and huge mountains that provide a natural-yet powerful defence. They say the jungles are filled with creatures that possess poisonous saliva and blood and that they are haunted by the spirits of the restless who prey on the weak and unsuspecting.”

“A wives tale,” said Oswell dismissively.

“Perhaps, but Yi Ti is also very unknown compared to most of the rest of the world,” said Adewale warningly. “You never know what could be fact or fiction in a mysterious land such as this. The only true enemies they have ever faced are the Jogos Nhai, zorse riders who only raid the smaller towns and villages along Yi Ti’s northern borders.”

“The people, are they friendly to outsiders?” asked Arthur quickly before Oswell decided to argue.

“For the most part,” said Adewale, “though if I am being honest, Yi Ti does not get many visitors from the outside world simply because of its distance. The people of Yin are friendly enough at least, in my experience. They follow the example of the God-Emperor who is rumoured to be a good and honourable man who has a fascination with the outside world.”

Arthur shared a look with his other sworn brothers and Mark. That was hopeful news.

“Is there a way we can meet with the Emperor?” asked Lyanna.

Adewale let out a booming laugh. “You would have more luck hatching dragons again than getting an audience with the Emperor,” he told her not unkindly.

Lyanna looked put out by that, however she was quickly distracted when Jon let out an excited squeal at the sight of a seagull flying overhead. Arthur looked down at the baby for a brief moment before turning back to the city that was slowly growing bigger. He knew nothing about Yin except for what Adewale had just told them, which was not very helpful to begin with if he was being honest. However Arthur supposed they would have to make do for now.

Two smaller ships approached from either side of theirs, both of a design entirely unfamiliar to Arthur. Unconsciously his hand reached for the sword at his hip, as did Gerold and Oswell while Mark gripped his axe a little tighter. However Adewale warned them off, telling them that they were merely barge ships who act as tugboats to help pull damaged ships into the harbour. A few YiTish men climbed on board carrying thick ropes, allowing Arthur to get a good look at them. They were in simple outfits similar to what the sailors of their ship wore, only their shirts were sleeveless and their pants much baggier. Most of them were about half a head shorter than Arthur as well, with narrow eyes, tanned skin and jet-black hair. They seemed harmless enough, at least until another man joined them.

The man was definitely a warrior, however the armour he wore was unlike anything Arthur had ever seen. It was a combination of leather and steel plating that overlapped, particularly the chest plate, shoulder plates and the leg guards. Over the armour was some kind of dark jacket made of expensive silks that was navy blue with gold trimming. The helmet he wore was elaborate and plated just like the rest of his armour with a golden ornament shaped like dragon horns. The man had a hard look on his face that spoke of years of experience. His hand was casually resting on the pommel of a curved, narrow sword that hung from his hip, a pose that Arthur was intimately familiar with. Underneath the sword was a shorter blade. When the man looked at them, his eyes narrowed slightly before climbing up the stairs to the quarterdeck. He spoke something that neither Arthur nor his companions could understand, so they looked at each other in confusion. Adewale however, seemed to understand.

“He asked what happened to the ship,” explained the Summer Islander. Adewale spoke back to the warrior in what Arthur assumed to be YiTish. The warrior’s eyes lit up in understanding before nodding his head. Then he looked at the six Westerosi and asked a question.

“He asked what you are doing here,” translated Adewale.

“We are refugees fleeing from the war that has divided the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros,” said Gerold. Adewale translated.

“Why did you come all the way to Yi Ti?” asked Adewale for the warrior.

“We were originally heading for Qarth but the storm blew us off course to your lands,” said Gerold.

“Qarth is very far, and there are no ships sailing back west for several months. What will you do in the meantime?”

Gerold looked at his companions, his gaze lingering on Lyanna and Jon the longest. “We will do what we must to survive,” he answered.

The warrior eyed them all warily before saying something once more to Adewale, then turned around and walked back to where the YiTish sailors were waiting. They had tied the ropes to the ship, then once they returned to their own boats they started to move once more. Adewale let out a deep breath.

“That was terrifying,” he said.

“Are you talking about that man?” asked Lyanna.

“That was no ordinary man, that was a _jeonsa,_ one of the most legendary warriors in all of Yi Ti,” said Adewale. “They are comparable to your Westerosi knights, only much scarier. They live by a strict code of honour and are some of the most skilled swordsmen I have even seen. That one in particular commands the fleet of rescue boats in Yi Ti. He is essentially a lord in Westerosi terms.” Stroking his chin thoughtfully, he added, “I am not sure why he came to see us personally, he would usually just send one of his commanders instead.”

“Do you think someone in Yin knows who we really are?” asked Mark.

“Unlikely, we are probably one of the first ships with news of what has happened in the Seven Kingdoms to come to Yi Ti. Travel by sea is much faster than land,” said Adewale, though he did not sound convinced himself.

“A jeonsa,” said Arthur, testing the word on his tongue. It felt weird, however he thought nothing of it. That warrior was obviously very skilled based on the confidence he emanated, or was at least held a lot of power. Arthur however could not shake the feeling that things were about to change even more than they already had.

The ship was pulled next to a spare dock, thanks to the help of the tugboats. The surviving crew members, under the direction of Adewale who had taken on the role of captain after the death of the original began to bring up their trade goods and supplies. Arthur guessed that Adewale wanted to make the most of trading with Yi Ti, even if this place wasn’t their original intended destination. As the crew members worked to bring up their boxes and barrels of goods, Gerold and Mark disappeared back into the captain’s quarters, returning a few minutes later with what little belongings the five of them plus Jon had with them. Other than his sword and the clothes on his back, Arthur had nothing. He did not even have a cord to tie his hair back out of his face. Perhaps there was one lying about that nobody was using?

After Adewale was finished supervising his men, he approached them with a big grin on his face. “Come with me, there is an inn not too far away that we can stay at, just until you are able to find your own way,” he said.

Without waiting for a reply, the dark-skinned sailor walked off the ship without sparing them another glance. Unable to refuse, Arthur, Lyanna with Jon, the other two Kingsguard and Mark followed Adewale off the ship onto the docks. Arthur felt like he could take a deep breath of fresh air the first time he stepped on land. It had been weeks, perhaps even months since he had last done so and it felt so good. He was a knight who learned how to battle on ground that did not continuously move underneath him, it was where he belonged. However, being on solid land became the furthest thing from Arthur’s mind as he continued walking. The sights in Yin were impossible to describe. There were so many people, many of which did not stand as tall as him, especially the women. Everyone wore clothing unlike anything Arthur had ever seen before. He could not even describe some of the things he were seeing. Market stalls selling skinned animals, silks, furs and strange perfumes. Coloured smokes billowing from the chimney stacks of houses, rich merchants advertising their foreign products, men in expensive silks being pulled on rickshaws by sweaty, lean-muscled men wearing wide brimmed straw hats. Beautiful women wearing lavish silks with white-painted faces were seen everywhere, intermingled by the commoners who wore more simple but equally peculiar clothing. Further down the busy market street, Arthur could spot tall towers designed in unfamiliar yet impressive architecture behind white stone walls guarded by stone statues reminiscent of the dragon statues found on Dragonstone. On the top of those walls, as well as situated at strategic locations were soldiers. However, unlike the jeonsa from the tugboat, they were armoured differently. Their armour was less elaborate and seemed to be made mostly out of thick furs and leather, and they each held spears with three-pronged blades. In spite of the unfamiliar yet interesting sights, Arthur could not help but notice that there seemed to be a grim undertone in the air. Had something happened recently that would cause the people to be sad?

Adewale took them to a building that Arthur had mistakenly believed to be a nobleman’s house, only to find that it was the inn he had mentioned. The interior was lavish, and all the furniture had been made of the finest dark oak. It was not too busy, though it was filled enough that any conversation would be drowned out by everything else. As soon as the group entered, a good portion of the patrons inside turned and stared. Arthur instantly felt uncomfortable and he had to resist the urge to reach for his sword, fearing that doing so would cause a negative reaction. If the people decided to attack them, there was no way Arthur and the others would be able to protect Lyanna and Jon, especially in such a crowded place. The entire place was split off into smaller rooms on elevated platforms, and Arthur noted how nobody in any of the rooms were wearing shoes and were sitting on the floor that was covered in some kind of straw mat.

Thankfully though Adewale led the group over to an empty room before telling them that they needed to take off their footwear before coming into the room, so everyone obliged and the Kingsguard made sure that Lyanna and Jon were seated firmly in the middle, furthest away from anyone who would be looking to attack them. Arthur sat closest to the room’s exit so that if need be, he would be able to spring up and defend his king and princess. Oswell sat on the other end in a similar position, while Lyanna sat right in between Gerold and Mark. Adewale sat next to Oswell.

A bartender, a young woman with pale skin and her hair done up in a tight yet simple bun at the back of her head approached. She looked nervous until Adewale began to speak in YiTish to her, then she looked relieved. She spoke to Adewale for a brief moment before going back to the counter.

“What did you say to her?” asked Oswell, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Do not worry my friend, she is merely getting us some fresh food,” said Adewale placatingly. Then he leaned forward and said, “I must warn you though, YiTish food is unlike anything you have ever eaten before.”

“How so?” asked Lyanna.

“Well for one thing, they do not roast all of their food,” answered the Summer Islander, “Most of their food is very fresh, consisting mostly seafood and rice.”

“Rice?” repeated Mark questioningly.

“It is a plant that grows very well in wetlands and marshes here in Yi Ti,” explained Adewale, “You will definitely be trying some during your stay here. There is not a meal without rice. Except for perhaps ramen. I have heard though that further inland they prefer the meats of cow and pig as it is difficult to obtain fresh seafood unless you live near a river or lake.”

Lyanna opened her mouth, no doubt to ask a question but the serving wench returned with a tray laden with several small dishes filled with steaming white grain. Arthur guessed this to be rice, and it smelled nice, if a little plain. He gave the serving wench a grateful smile, which she returned albeit a little shyly before she disappeared once more. Then Arthur noticed the thin sticks next to his plate. He picked them up and inspected them. What were these? Where were the forks?

“Those are _hashi,_ or chopsticks in the Common Tongue,” said Adewale. Arthur looked up to see that the other four Westerosi were just as confused by them. “It’s how just about everyone in Yi Ti eats.”

“How?” asked Mark.

“Like this,” said Adewale. He picked up his own pair of chopsticks and held them in one hand , one stick held in the lower joint of his thumb while the other was held between his index and middle fingers and thumb, allowing him to move it up and down like a crab’s pincer. Then Adewale demonstrated how to use them by picking up some rice with the ends of his chopsticks, brought it up to his mouth and ate it, letting out a content sigh of pleasure.

“That looks complicated,” grunted Oswell.

To Arthur’s surprise (really, he should have seen it coming at this point), Lyanna quickly mastered it within a few minutes and had even taken to feeding Jon some smaller bits of rice with it. The Kingsguard and Mark, on the other hand were completely hopeless, much to Adewale’s amusement. No matter what Arthur tried, he could not for a life of him figure out how to hold the chopsticks correctly. It was hard to maintain his cool when Yi Ti did not even have any proper utensils for eating, but by the Seven, he was ready to throw a fit.

“This is hopeless!” growled Oswell in frustration, and he stabbed his chopsticks into his rice bowl angrily. Adewale reached over and plucked the chopsticks, setting them aside next to the bowl and looked at Oswell with a firm look.

“Do not ever bury your chopsticks upright. It resembles the incense sticks that burn at funerals and is a symbol of death in Yi Ti,” the dark-skinned man warned seriously.

Oswell opened his mouth to argue, but Arthur looked at his brother with a firm look, silently telling him to back off. They were in a foreign land and would likely be here for a long time, so they might as well learn some of their customs and beliefs. After that, everyone at quietly, struggling to eat with their strange utensils but trying their best to do so anyway. Every now and again the serving wench would come back to refill their glasses with fresh, cool water while chattering away to Adewale in YiTish. They probably stayed here for a few hours at least before Arthur decided to see if they could book a room in the inn for a few days while they tried to get their bearings. Adewale joined him to act as a translator and the two men headed out of their private room, putting their shoes back on before going out to the main bar room.

A few people looked at Arthur, but they seemed to be used to the idea of a foreigner being here so their attentions quickly turned back to their drinks or conversations. Arthur could not help but feel that he stuck out like a sore thumb here, and Adewale even more so. However, he ignored the strange episode of self-consciousness as he approached the bar. Adewale began to talk to a middle-aged YiTish man animatedly, while Arthur looked around the room. The front doors opened suddenly, and in stepped about fifteen soldiers led by a jeonsa, who had his hand firmly on his sword. Unlike the jeonsa from the boat, this one was younger, perhaps of an age with Arthur or slightly younger. He was also significantly shorter as well, and instead of his armour being plated, instead the cuirass, shoulder pads and flaps around the loins and legs looked like thick scales like a dragon’s. His armour was also dark grey with gold trimmings, but unlike the jeonsa who escorted them into the docks, he wore no ornamented helmet. The other soldiers were not dressed the same, wearing what looked to be thick, brightly-coloured robes and feathered hats. However, they looked no less dangerous than the jeonsa.

The jeonsa looked around the room, his thin eyes narrowed before settling on Arthur. Then he purposely strode over, his hand not once leaving the pommel of his sword. Arthur noticed that the man’s hair was thick, dark and tied in a topknot at the back of his head, and he had a thin goatee. Arthur maintained eye contact with the jeonsa and subtly tapped Adewale on the side to get his attention. The sailor turned around, then swore under his breath.

The jeonsa stopped a few feet from Arthur and Adewale, looked between the two men for a moment then, to Arthur’s shock, said in perfect, yet heavily accented Common Tongue, “Are you the refugees who were spotted at the docks? The ones who arrived in the damaged ship?”

Arthur was too shocked to say anything for a long time. But luckily, Adewale recovered.

“We are the ones who came on that ship,” he answered.

“You answered one question, but omitted the first,” said the jeonsa. “I was also told there were more of you. Where are they?”

“Eating,” answered Arthur, “and as for your first question, my family and I are refugees from Westeros who fled after Robert Baratheon usurped the throne from the Targaryens. We have come here to find a better life.”

“I care not for your story,” said the jeonsa, “only that I must fulfill my duty as I have been commanded.”

“By whose authority?” asked Adewale.

The jeonsa’s face remained stoic as he said, “the God-Emperor of Yi Ti.”


	4. Lyanna I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas folks! The next chapter will be posted in three weeks' time due to me going on holidays. Hope you all have a wonderful time with your families and friends as well.

When Arthur and Adewale returned, they brought along a jeonsa and several soldiers, all armed to the teeth and wearing serious expressions. Instinctively Lyanna clutched a dozing Jon tighter, holding her son protectively. Adewale looked apologetic, but Arthur looked furious in a way Lyanna had barely seen him before. The Sword of the Morning was often the most calm of the three Kingsguard and the voice of reason, but right now he looked like he wanted to cut down the jeonsa and all the other soldiers with him.

Mark, Gerold and Oswell all tensed up while Lyanna adjusted in her seat so that Jon was less visible. The jeonsa looked at them with a bored expression.

“I am under orders from the God-Emperor of Yi Ti to escort you to the palace to meet and commune with him,” said the jeonsa in near-perfect Common Tongue. Lyanna did not think anyone in Yi Ti could actually speak the Common Tongue. She was a little glad that she was wrong in that regard, but why did it have to be disproven by a man who looked like he could cut them all down in a split second? She was confident in her protectors’ abilities to defend her and Jon, but there was just something about this one particular jeonsa that reminded Lyanna of Arthur. However she could not think of why that was.

“We must answer the summons,” said Adewale in a defeated tone. Everyone looked ready to argue, but could not. They were alone, in a strange land with strange people with no way to survive. As Lyanna thought about it, perhaps the summoning was a gift from the gods to help them. If only they had decided to step in a little sooner, she thought with a grimace.

The Kingsguard and Mark all turned to look at Lyanna, silently asking the question. She sighed and nodded her head. “Let’s go,” she said. It was not like they had a choice in the matter to begin with considering they were being summoned to the palace by the God-Emperor himself.

Like a cohesive unit the Westerosi refugees stood up and left the room, slipping their shoes back on. The jeonsa’s eyes narrowed at the sleeping Jon in Lyanna’s arms, his face hardening slightly. Lyanna was about to snap at the man angrily, but before she could the jeonsa turned and walked away. Arthur and Oswell both stood on either side of her, with Gerold at the front and Mark at the back. It made Lyanna sigh. They were supposed to be pretending to be a family, but instead the honour-damned knights were acting like the Kingsguard they really were which could potentially blow their cover to anyone who could recognise them. The chances of stumbling upon another Westerosi were low, but Lyanna’s paranoia often took root at the worst of times. It certainly did not help that they were surrounded on all sides by the other YiTish soldiers, making escape next to impossible without bloodshed. Lyanna did not want that at all.

The jeonsa led the way through the crowded city of Yin, his mere presence alone seeming to make the commoners part for him and the people he was leading. Lyanna saw how the people whispered amongst each other as they pointed at the warrior, looking at him as if he was some kind of hero. It made Lyanna wonder who he was to cause such a reaction. The commoners were not even sparing her and her friends a glance. Were all jeonsa as revered as this man, or was he special in some way? Perhaps he was also the YiTish equivalent of a Lord Paramount? Then again, the only times Lyanna had ever seen her own father inspire such reactions were if he was in the North. Anywhere else and his face had been practically unknown.

The further into Yin they walked, the more grand and spectacular it became. The buildings grew taller and whiter, with multiple levels and the roofs looking to be made out of jade-green tiles and wood. Lyanna’s head could not stop swivelling as she took in all the new and amazing things Yin had to offer. She had never been to King’s Landing herself, but she knew that the capital of the Seven Kingdoms was little more than a dirty hovel compared to the majesty she was witnessing. She was almost glad that they were here Yi Ti instead of Qarth, if only because she could see how spectacular a place this mysterious country was. And judging by the looks on her Kingsguard’s faces, they were having a hard time trying to keep an eye out for potential threats because they kept getting distracted by all the new things they were seeing.

“Have you ever seen anything like it?” wondered Oswell in an awed voice as he looked at one of the huge dragon statues that guarded an azure gate they were passing through.

“Not even the dragon statues in Dragonstone can compare,” said Arthur, sounding equally impressed.

On the other side of the gate was a city within a city. If Lyanna thought the outer city was grand, it was nothing compared to the pure majesty of what lay within. White stone walls, red tiled roofs, azure painted wooden pillars and statues painted in every colour of the rainbow made everything in view pop out in fantastical ways that drew the eye. Almost the entirety of the ground was either made of large, light grey bricks or covered in sandy gravel, making the carefully-maintained paths clear for all to see. Unusual large trees with thick, knotted bark and twisting trunks grew in various places, while gardens and ponds full of white, gold and orange fish helped bring even more colour and variety to the city. Standing at every gate and corner were guards similar to the ones currently accompanying them, with strange, feathered hats worn on their heads. Perhaps it was a sign of their station. Lyanna noticed that there were more walls that split this part of the city into sections, creating a sense of order that none of the cities in Westeros possessed. She wondered if each division had a special purpose, for example if one served as a marketplace while another acted similarly to the famous Street of Steel in King’s Landing where all the blacksmith shops were located.

The jeonsa paused suddenly and turned to face the refugees. “Welcome to the Imperial Palace,” he said.

Lyanna balked slightly. This city was the _palace?_ But it was so huge!

“Wow,” she heard Mark murmur from behind her.

Wow was a gross understatement. Lyanna imagined that the palace alone could house the entire population of the North because of how enormous it was. When the jeonsa continued walking, Lyanna felt Arthur’s hand on the small of her back, silently encouraging her to keep moving. The jeonsa led the entourage of people through massive courtyards large enough to house Winter Town, through gates guarded by dozens of YiTish warriors and over bridges built over a large moat filled teeming with aquatic plants and animals. Every now and again Lyanna would catch glimpses of bright colour, making her wonder what secrets the palace had to offer. If she had been brought here a year earlier, she would have sought for the first opportunity to sneak away and explore everything the palace had to offer. No doubt it would take weeks, months or even years before she would be satisfied. Her wolf’s blood called to her, urging her to go and learn everything about the Imperial Palace.

Lyanna’s full attention was captured however at the sight of the magnificent building in front of her. She gasped, feeling her mouth drop open slightly. She could not even compare the architecture of the building to anything she’d seen before. Easily the tallest building in the entire palace, the castle was built upon stone foundations at least three stories high. Consisting of six stories, the roofs of the castle were made of jade tiles while the walls were white. Small windows protected by wooden frames lined the outer walls which glowed from the light within. Stone reptilian beasts with snakelike bodies guarded the foot of the stone steps leading up to the castle’s front doors, their grey eyes cold and as menacing as their silent snarls. And at the top of the stairs were over a dozen more guards, all outfitted in some of the lavish armour Lyanna had ever seen. It took the young widow a moment to realise that every single one of them were jeonsa, and they took over the duties of escorting for the robed soldiers. One of the jeonsa however greeted them with a bow once they were at the top of the steps in front of the closed oak doors.

“Welcome to the Imperial Palace,” he said, bowing slightly at the new arrivals. “His Majesty will be with you in just a moment.”

“I thought no one in Yi Ti spoke the Common Tongue?” asked Arthur quietly to Adewale.

“None of the commoners do,” answered the sailor, “however I am not surprised that there are several interpreters at the employ of the God-Emperor. Though I did not suspect that some of the jeonsa could speak the Common Tongue as well. They are very private people, you see.”

The jeonsa who met them at the top of the stairs then bowed at the first jeonsa, the one with the dark armour and antlered helmet who met the Westerosi refugees at the pub. Lyanna noticed how the escort bowed significantly lower when he greeted the man compared to when he greeted them. She thought that was interesting.

“Come, this way,” said the escort jeonsa. Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and walked towards the great doors. They opened with a low creaking sound that made Lyanna feel nervous. She got the feeling that once she stepped through these doors, the life she knew would forever be changed. The interior of the castle was even more astonishing. Great pillars made of gold, murals of all sorts of fantasies and battles painted with all the colours of the rainbow, golden railings and jade statues were only some of what she could see. Silk drapes the colour of the midday sky hung from the ceiling almost all the way down to the ground. And there were hundreds of people gathered in what Lyanna assumed was the court. Every single one of them were dressed in the finest silk gowns of vibrant colours, from blood red to emerald green all clashing yet blending so well together it caught the young princess’s eye. Many of the women’s faces were painted white as alabaster marble with pink-tinted cheeks and blood-red lips, while a majority of men stood in rows on either side of the dais, wearing purple robes and strange hats made out of a dark fur that Lyanna didn’t recognise. The sights were so amazing, even Jon had woken up and was taking everything in with wide eyes.

Most impressive of all was the man on a throne made out of gold stylised in a similar manner as the guardian statues seen throughout the palace. Their eyes were made out of glowing sapphires, with torches lit in their mouths that reminded Lyanna of dragons. The serpentine figures curled all the way down the dais, with each of their many feet acting as seats for the men and women seated on them. The dais itself was so huge that Lyanna could barely see the man atop of it until she was standing at the foot of it. She’d heard stories of how impressive the Iron Throne was, but compared to this, Lyanna thought that the seat of power for the Seven Kingdoms was nothing to this throne. But the man sitting atop the throne looked extremely comfortable there, like he was as untouchable as a god.

This was the God-Emperor of Yi Ti, a man believed to be a descendant of the gods themselves and thus a deity himself. He was dressed in azure silk robes embroidered with swirling silver clouds, stars and reptiles. On the front of his robes was the emblem of what Lyanna assumed to be his House, a snarling golden serpent with a mane of hair crowning its head and antlers like a stag. Around his waist was a thick, dark blue leather belt with silver emblems on it that Lyanna couldn’t make out. The God-Emperor was surprisingly young, with a smooth face, dark, narrow eyes and a thin goatee. His expression was blank, but his eyes looked down upon the newcomers with a keen interest.

Around Lyanna and her companions, the jeonsa and soldiers all bowed low at the hip, hands resting on their thighs. A herald said something in YiTish with a loud voice, the sound echoing through the silent throne room. The men with the strange hats standing in rows let out a loud chant in response as they too bowed before straightening up once more. Lyanna adjusted Jon in her arms, who made a small grunt as he was moved from one side of her hip to the other. Goodness, he was getting so big already. Beside Lyanna, Arthur turned his head to look at her and her son, his brows furrowed together. He was worried. Lyanna thought that was understandable because she was also worried. How had the God-Emperor of Yi Ti known about their coming to Yi Ti so quickly? He must have had even better spies than the ones she’d heard Westeros’s monarchy possessed. It was fortunate that Lyanna’s hands were occupied with carrying Jon, otherwise she would be wringing them nervously in front of her, a habit her parents had tried and failed on a number of occasions to break.

“You stand in the presence of Bu-gai, God-Emperor of Yi Ti, seventeenth of the Azure Emperors and descendant of the mighty Lion-of-Night and the Maiden-Made-of-Light,” announced the herald in Common Tongue from the dais.

“Bow to him,” said the jeonsa who found them in the inn in a hushed voice.

Lyanna and her companions all bowed then straightened once more. The herald looked pleased before turning to look up at Emperor Bu-gai. He was young, no more than a few years older than Lyanna herself. But he held himself up better than most nobility in the Seven Kingdoms did. His mere presence was enough to capture the attention of everyone in the great hall. Lyanna remembered that Rhaegar used to be able to do the same thing, and when he would play his harp... She missed her husband.

Emperor Bu-gai said something in YiTish, bringing Lyanna back.

“The Emperor welcomes you to his homeland, and wishes that you will enjoy your stay here among his people,” translated the herald. When the Emperor said something else, the herald added, “He also desires to know what brought three of Aerys Targaryen’s guardians all the way to Yi Ti with a girl and her child.”

All three of the Kingsguard looked up at the God-Emperor in shock, while Mark even swore out loud. Lyanna felt her blood turn to ice as she stared up at Emperor Bu-gai, who merely stared back at her indifferently. She pulled Jon closely to her chest protectively, ignoring the small, annoyed whine that came out of her son. The God-Emperor knew who Arthur, Gerold and Oswell were. How? Had someone been watching them the whole time? Lyanna’s imagination instantly began conjuring up the worst things possible. Did Robert’s spies and assassins get to Yi Ti before they did and warn the Emperor of their impending arrival? Were the soldiers surrounding them about to fall upon them and butcher her child like the Mountain did to Elia Martell’s children, Jon’s very own half-siblings? Lyanna looked around the great hall, searching for anyone who looked ready to spring upon them. There weren’t many dark places for assassins to hide, but still she clutched Jon tighter.

Lyanna knew that rationally, there was no way anyone Robert could have sent out would reach Yi Ti before they did. And there was also no way anyone would know they would be here. If there were assassins waiting for them, they would be in Qarth waiting for a ship that would never arrive. And travelling by land was much, much slower compared to a ship. If there was anyone bound for Yin, Lyanna and her friends had already beaten them here.

Lyanna felt Emperor Bu-gai’s gaze upon her, so she looked up and stared straight back at him. She might be utterly powerless in a country not her own, but if the YiTish planned on killing them today she would not die like a coward. To her surprise, the Emperor’s expression softened, even more so when he looked at Jon. He spoke, catching everyone’s attention.

“The Emperor wishes to express his condolences for the loss of the Targaryen’s power,” said the herald. “He understands the pain of losing the ones closest to him.”

“Uh, thank you, Your Grace,” said Gerold. The stoic elderly knight looked uncomfortable, which Lyanna found slightly amusing. Nothing fazed the Lord Commander usually. “If I may ask, how did you know we were here? We were not meant to come to Yi Ti, but a storm, a disease and pirates forced us off course and we have only been here for a few hours.”

“The Emperor has eyes and ears everywhere,” said the herald, “his power is present in the lives of every citizen of his realm. And who is the woman and her child?”

“We cannot answer that, Your Grace,” said Arthur.

After the herald translated out loud, a disturbed murmuring went through all the nobles watching from the sides. As Lyanna looked, she noticed that many of the noble men and women were watching the foreigners with incredulity. Were they not used to seeing someone question the reigning monarchy? She also saw how a few of them, noticeably among the older generation and how they looked upon them with contempt. That did not sit well with her.

“We must insist you answer. What His Majesty says next could determine your fates,” said the herald.

Arthur looked ready to open his mouth to continue arguing, but Lyanna stepped forward and gave the knight a warning look. Turning back to look at the Emperor, she said, “I am Lyanna Stark, daughter of Rickard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. This is my son, Jhaegar Targaryen. I married Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and bore his child, but after my husband’s family’s fall we fled to the east to escape the Usurper’s fury. Robert Baratheon loathes House Targaryen, and he is willing to murder anyone carrying their blood, even children and babies. I could not let my son suffer the same fate as that of his older half-siblings, so we have come to Yi Ti to seek refuge among your people until such a time where it will prove safe enough for us to return home.

“We do not wish to intrude, or bring any suffering upon you and your people, Your Majesty,” continued Lyanna, “we only wish to live in peace and allow my son to grow until he is ready to reclaim his birthright. If you feel that we might bring any danger to your country, we will happily move on.”

The herald’s translation was given to the Emperor, who continued to regard Jon without moving. There was a stern silence that blanketed the entire hallway as everyone waited for him to speak, but he did not move at all. Lyanna stared at the Emperor, her eyes not once leaving him even as the tension continued to mount. She could hear her Kingsguard shuffle uncomfortably next to and in front of her, while the two jeonsa’s eyes flittered between their monarch and her. Somewhere behind her someone let out a cough.

Finally, Emperor Bu-gai spoke, and even though he spoke a language Lyanna could not understand, she could tell that he spoke with a deep sadness. That same sorrow was clear in his eyes but not only that, Lyanna noticed how the entire court seemed to become more melancholic. When the herald translated, she understood exactly why.

“His Majesty understands the pain you must be feeling over the loss of your great love. The Empire is in mourning following the passing of His Majesty’s wife in the birthing bed, leaving him with just his two sons and newborn daughter to carry on his legacy.”

Lyanna could see that Emperor Bu-gai meant what he said, making her feel that there was a kindred spirit she could relate to for the first time in a very long time. It also made her own heart ache for Rhaegar and the life they could have had together. Their time had been far too short, a little more than a few months before Rhaegar went off to war and never returned. Lyanna steeled her expression. She would not cry in front of strangers. She was a Stark of Winterfell, born with ice and stone in her heart. She looked away from the Emperor for a moment to adjust Jon, then looked up again.

“Thank you for your kind words, Your Majesty,” said Lyanna, bowing slightly in spite of how awkward it was to do it while holding a baby. The Emperor acknowledged her with a tilt of his head, then spoke in a loud voice like a proclamation.

“The Great Emperor’s might has beaten back the mightiest armies and invaders for thousands of years. Not even the Valyrian dragonlords could conquer the Golden Empire. To think that a nation as small of the Seven Kingdoms is powerful enough to even think they can come and take away these people who have sought refuge here is laughable.

“These people are refugees, forced away from their homes and families by the greed and rage of men eager to spill the blood of innocents to get what they want. We have harboured outsiders in the past for the same reasons: runaway slaves from the Ghiscari and Dothraki savages, survivors of shipwrecks, explorers who ventured off course. Why should we turn away these people as well?”

One of the men in the purples robes and strange hats stepped forward suddenly and bowed to Emperor Bu Gai. When the Emperor gestured towards him in acknowledgement, the man began to speak in a loud, hurried tone. A few of the other men dressed similarly began to speak up as well. Lyanna had no idea what was going on, and neither did the Kingsguard or Mark. Adewale though was looking nervous.

“What are they saying?” asked Oswell to the dark-skinned sailor.

“The ministers are asking the Emperor to rescind his offer of protecting you,” answered Adewale. “They believe that harbouring the boy will bring trouble to the nation.”

“But the Emperor said that Yi Ti has allowed foreigners to stay in the past,” said Lyanna.

“None of them were exiled royalty, Your Grace,” replied Adewale.

Lyanna held Jon closer and watched as the ‘ministers’ as Adewale called them tried to convince the Emperor to send them away. She did not want to go. She hoped that the Emperor would allow for them to stay and live somewhere in peace where she could raise Jon without having to constantly be on the run while making sure nobody would stab her in the back. If the Emperor refused them asylum, Lyanna did not know what she would do. She was only barely back to her former strength after giving birth to her son, but being forced on the run again could endanger her health once more as well.

Emperor Bu-gai raised a hand, silencing his ministers’ objections. His voice was firm and strong, and it made his men bow down and retreat to their former stations in submission.

“The Emperor will not change his mind in his initial decision,” translated Adewale, his voice ringing clearly with relief. “He has even said that you will stay in the guest houses of his palace.”

Lyanna felt her shoulders sag with relief. They were not going to be sent away. They were going to rest and recover, and under the safety of the Emperor, even the King of the Seven Kingdoms wouldn’t be able to touch her or Jon. Now she felt like crying even more than before. A woman’s emotions were sometimes a curse, she thought to herself.

“Lord Hasashi will escort you to the guest’s houses,” said the herald. “His Majesty would also like to met with you in a more private setting, Lady Lyanna.”

Lord Hasashi, who turned out to be the young jeonsa who met them at the inn bowed low to the Emperor, then turned and said something in YiTish to the other soldiers. As one they turned one-hundred and eighty degrees, facing the great oak doors and marched away from the halls, with Lyanna and her companions following closely behind. Over her shoulder, Lyanna noticed how the minister who opposed their staying in Yin glared at the back of their heads.

Again, Lyanna was astounded by the architecture of Yin and the Emperor’s palace. Everything about the palace spoke volumes of the millennia of history and culture. The stone walls, the gravel pathways, the reptilian statues of the bearded snakes and the designs of the buildings. Lyanna hoped to find something to sketch what she was seeing. She had not drawn in a very long time, not since before the fateful tourney at Harrenhal and worried that she would not be as good at it as she used to be. But, Lyanna supposed she might have a little free time to get some practice in.

Lord Hasashi led the group of refugees and soldiers through the huge palace, almost all the way to the other side on the west where the guest houses were. To Lyanna’s surprise, the houses are much simpler and more humble compared to everything else she had seen in the palace up until this point. The buildings were only a single storey tall and raised about a foot above the dirt ground on many wooden pegs. They were made mostly of orange-painted wood and white, paper-like walls, with tiled roofs where the corners tilted up slightly. Shaped like straight-lined u’s, the centre of every one of the houses was dominated by gravel and stone courtyards. Some of the larger ones even had well-manicured bushes and grass, with large flat stones that spread out from the small archway leading to the foot of the stone brick stairs up into the houses’ balconies like a footpath. They were simple yet elegant, and Lyanna found herself liking them already. She was also curious about what the interiors looked like.

“These buildings are called _hanok,_ ” said Lord Hasashi in a stern, disinterested tone. “You will be staying here until you decide to move on.”

“Lord Hasashi,” called out Lyanna to the jeonsa. When he looked at her, she quickly asked, “Is it possible to have some books about Yi Ti’s history and language brought over? I’m very interested to know about your people.”

Lord Hasashi looked surprised at such an odd request, and she didn’t need to see the Kingsguard’s faces to know they looked the same. But she was genuinely interested. If they were going to stay here for a while, Lyanna wanted to be less of a burden and be able to do things on her own.

“I will see what I can do,” answered Lord Hasashi. He bowed stiffly to them before going away with the majority of his soldiers, leaving only four soldiers behind to watch them.

“History and language?” questioned Arthur in amusement, his right eyebrow raised slightly as he looked down at Lyanna.

“If we are going to stay here for a period of time, it is best to acquaint ourselves with the customs of the people and their language. We would not want to accidentally insult one of those ministers who wanted to throw us out,” said Lyanna.

Arthur nodded in agreement, but his grin never left his face. “But you have never been one for reading books, have you?” he asked jokingly.

Lyanna gave him a dry look. “I could always make you sleep outside in the dirt,” she warned.

“And I would do so gladly, Your Grace,” replied Arthur.

“Your Grace, we should get ourselves settled in,” interrupted Gerold.

“What about our things?” asked Lyanna.

“They are back at the ship,” said Adewale. “I can return and have them brought over to the guest houses. Not that there is a whole lot you brought to begin with, but I will make sure your things return to you safely.”

“How will you do that?” asked Oswell, distrustful as ever.

The Summer Islander grinned at the grumpy knight. “I can speak YiTish, and I have been complimented on my charming ways,” he answered.

“Oswell, if it makes you feel better you can always go with Adewale,” said Gerold.

“You know what? I think I will,” responded Oswell. After placing his fist over his heart and nodding to Lyanna, he and Adewale set off back the way they came.

Once the two men disappeared around a corner, Arthur suggested they get settled into their new home. As Lyanna suspected, the interior of the hanok was just as simplistic and beautiful as the anterior. The largest room which she chose for herself was much like this. Divided into three sections, two-thirds of the room’s floor was made of polished, wooden planks, with short tables and cushions and a drawer with odd trinkets and a looking glass fastened to one of the walls. The last section at the very back of the room was different. The floor was made out of some kind of padded straw, with even more cushions and a thick mat. Lyanna guessed this was the bed, but she had never seen a bed that was not propped up on a frame above the floor before. A small door in the back of the room opened up to a cupboard filled with spare blankets of silk covers and dresses she had seen being worn by the women in the Emperor’s court and on the street. She did not know how she would look wearing one of those, but with the limited clothes she already had, she might not get a choice. _And here I had hoped that I would never have to wear a ridiculous dress ever again._

Lyanna busied herself with settling down into her new accommodations. Sitting Jon on the floor, she smelled something suspicious coming from his pants. Raising an eyebrow at her son, she asked, “Did you soil yourself?”

In response Jon gave a little warble, clapping his hands as he beamed up at her. Lyanna smiled back at him. She loved her son and did not regret for a second having him, even if she sometimes felt too young and out of her depth in raising him. If she was being honest with herself, she would not change the circumstances of how she came to have Jon if it meant she could not have him. It seemed selfish, but Lyanna firmly believed it. She would never regret having her son in her life. She could hardly remember life before him, as if she was truly born at the same time as him. It was odd, but Lyanna chalked it up to the nature of being a mother.

Lyanna entertained Jon for a few minutes until her son grew tired. His eyes were drooping, but the soft, protesting sounds he was making suggested that he was hungry. Lyanna had started to give Jon some solids, mostly ground-up fruit and broth, but she still fed him from her breast. She had no idea how old Jon needed to be before he was completely weaned. She actually had no idea how to raise a baby. Everything she was doing to raise her son was purely guesswork and intuition. None of the Kingsguard knew how to take care of a baby, even Arthur despite having two younger siblings himself. So raising Jon so far was a matter of trial and error. Sometimes she got it right, most of the time she made a mistake. It made Lyanna wonder how her own mother had succeeded with three children, let alone one.

Jon had just fallen asleep, cradled in his mother’s arms after having finished his meal when somebody knocked on the door of her rooms. Lyanna looked up just as Gerold entered, and he bowed before standing to the side.

“Lord Hasashi has returned with what you requested,” said the aging knight.

Instead of the stern and quiet jeonsa, a servant girl wearing simple yet peculiar skirts came in, holding a wooden tray of several books and scrolls. Lyanna noticed that the servant was wearing no shoes. Did she leave them outside? Was that a YiTish custom? The servant sank to her knees, placed the tray on one of the tables and bowed before standing up again and retreating. Only then did Lord Hasashi enter. Like the servant, he wore no shoes and had since removed his armour into something more casual yet no less interesting. Clad in dark clothing, with long, wide sleeves and what Lyanna assumed to be a skirt until she realised that there was a split in the middle, Lord Hasashi had his two blades tucked into the sash around his waist.

“I trust you have settled in well,” he inquired as he knelt down in front of the table between them.

“I have. This is a beautiful building and I am fortunate to be staying here,” replied Lyanna.

Lord Hasashi looked uncomfortable, but it seemed he was expected to play the host. “These are some of the history and language books I managed to find. They have been translated into the Common Tongue by some of our most prominent translators,” he said.

“Thank you,” said Lyanna.

“Why do you want to use them?”

Lyanna looked up at the jeonsa and shrugged. “I figured that if I am going to be staying in Yi Ti for a long time, I thought it would be best to be educated in the culture and language so I do not become a burden,” she answered.

Lord Hasashi nodded his head as if he were expecting that answer. He glanced over his shoulder to where Gerold was still standing for a moment, then turned back to face Lyanna again. Neither spoke for a long time, during which Lyanna got the sense that Lord Hasashi was taking a measure of her. She was fine with that because she was doing the same thing as well. Lord Hasashi sat on his knees with a straight back, with his hands on his lap and a disciplined expression on his face. He looked to be about the same age as Arthur, though his features were sharper. The glint in his eyes were calculating, and every slight movement he made was purposeful and carefully made. Lyanna felt that Lord Hasashi was hiding a lot behind the air of an aristocratic member of YiTish society, something that she believed was dangerous. Just like Arthur.

“How long do you plan on staying in Yi Ti for?” Lord Hasashi asked.

The question stunned Lyanna for a moment. “I do not know. We do not have enough money or resources to go anywhere else. Why do you ask?”

“Curiosity,” was all Lord Hasashi said in response. His eyes darted down to the sleeping Jon, and Lyanna saw the way they widened ever so slightly before slipping under the carefully crafted mask of indifference once more. It made her suspicious of him. “I had a dream a month ago,” said the jeonsa.

Lyanna tilted her head. “Oh?” she said.

“I dreamed that a foreign warrior in dark armour moved in the shadows, slaying enemies everywhere he went. He was a demon, a ghost that killed and killed until none of his enemies in Yi Ti were left. Then he travelled west, across an ocean with an army to overthrow a lion in stag’s clothing. At his side was a pale star, an azure horse and a black dragon, and in his hand he held a porcelain maiden that shined like a star. From the shadows, enemies tried to lurk and strike him where he could not see them, but every one of them failed because the shadows belonged to him,” said Lord Hasashi. His expression grew distant, like he was seeing something else and not Lyanna and Jon. Lyanna looked over Lord Hasashi to Gerold, who offered her nothing more than a confused look. For a moment, she wondered if Lord Hasashi was actually insane, but as quickly as she thought about that she dispelled it. Dreams of ghosts and blue horses seemed like madness to her. Rhaegar claimed to have prophetic dreams, and where did that lead him? To the bottom of the Trident with his chest caved in.

“I would not put much stock into dreams, my lord,” said Lyanna cautiously. “Often they lead to the doom of many.”

“Wise words,” said Lord Hasashi, giving her an appraising look.

Loud speaking came from outside, drawing everyone’s attention. Gerold poked his head out the door, then said, “Ser Oswell and Adewale have returned with our supplies.”

“I will let you settle down then,” said Lord Hasashi. He stood up and bowed to Lyanna, his eyes not leaving Jon. Lyanna bowed her head back, feeling a little self-conscious about the gesture and watched silently as Lord Hasashi left. Once he was gone, she looked at Gerold.

“What do you think?” she asked.

“I think you should not put much stock into what that man said, Your Grace,” answered the Lord Commander, “however I do believe that Lord Hasashi could prove to be a useful ally to you and the king.”

Lyanna nodded thoughtfully. Outside she heard something crash to the ground, followed by someone who sounded suspiciously like Oswell swearing while another man, likely Adewale laughed.

“I think we could all use some rest,” Gerold added as he looked out the window. There was a loud slapping noise, followed by a yelp and Gerold flinched. “Yes, we definitely need some rest.”


	5. Lyanna II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the wait guys, real life is a pain in the ass sometimes. I'm not sure when the next chapter will come out because I have a wedding to help plan out for one of my best friends, then the wedding itself, then uni starts back up and all sorts of other wonderful things, but please stay tuned. Thank you for your patience.

For two weeks, Lyanna spent her time learning all that she could about Yi Ti’s history and culture from the books and scrolls given to her by Lord Hasashi. She was never much of a studious person, preferring to be out in the open air riding a horse or shooting a bow, but she was overcome by an obsession to learn and read. It was very unlike her, but she was so fascinated by Yi Ti as a whole that she could not help herself.

Lyanna read about how the Empire came to be. How supposedly the Empire was founded by their two most prominent gods, the Lion-Of-Night and the Maiden-Made-Of-Light who birthed a child to rule the land. The God-Emperors were believed to be descendants of this godly child. The records of Yi Ti’s history were astonishingly well-kept. From the Age of Heroes to the present day there were multiple resources that kept a detailed account of everything that occurred. Of God-Emperors who had literally hundreds of wives and thousands of concubines, of cities so ancient and huge that they could fit King’s Landing inside their walls a hundred times over. Lyanna learned about blood mages, of the conquering of the island Leng, of abandoned cities swallowed up by the YiTish jungles. She learned that Yi Ti had two languages, but everyone spoke both. _Hangul_ was the most commonly spoken language, used mostly by the smallfolk and for naming things, while _nihongo_ was used primarily by the nobility of Yi Ti and for speaking about military terms and titles. Lyanna paused at the mention of black-scaled, winged reptiles that breathed balls of explosive fire far deadlier than wildfire that hid in the mountains near the Bleeding Sea and the Five Forts, and scribbled down a note on a strange brush that Yi Ti used instead of quills. The creatures described sounded eerily similar to dragons, only smaller and much more elusive than what she knew of the dragons once owned by the Targaryens, but it was something worth bringing up to Arthur and the other Kingsguard at a later time.

Yi Ti was governed by the God-Emperor, who was the primary monarch and had the final say in all things pertaining to his empire. While previous God-Emperors often took multiple wives of a number that put the Targaryens and their Valyrian ancestors to shame, Lyanna was surprised to learn that the God-Emperors had taken less and less wives over the last two hundred years as a result of multiple wars between dozens of siblings claiming to be heir. Emperor Bu-gai himself had only married once and had three children, two sons and a daughter less than a month old. She found it interesting that the current Emperor decided to break tradition now by choosing a monogamous lifestyle, even if his ancestors had slowly been distancing themselves from polygamy. Lyanna did not know if the Emperor was considering marrying again.

The God-Emperor was considered all-powerful, however Yi Ti was such a huge country that he had fifty advisors, called ministers who acted much in the same way the small council did in Westeros. Yi Ti itself was split into hundreds of pieces of land called provinces, which were split into smaller lands called prefectures which acted much like how Westeros was split into the Seven Kingdoms, which were divided into smaller lands by the nobility. Each of these lands were ruled by a lord and a magistrate. The magistrate handled the political affairs of the province or prefecture and took care of the people’s needs such as food and shelter, while the lord handled military affairs and keeping the peace. Almost all of these lords were jeonsa.

Lyanna found herself intrigued by the history of the jeonsa most of all. The order was founded some thousand years or so after the Long Night after centuries of battling the Jogos Nhai, a nomadic race of people who dwelled in the vast, never-ending plains to the north of Yi Ti. The jeonsa were founded, using the finest warriors of Yi Ti who were masters of the bow and the katana, the thin, single-edged swords that she had seen worn by Lord Hasashi and others of his kind. It was the jeonsa who pushed back the Jogos Nhai, allowing them to reclaim much of the land taken from them. For their courage in battle and service to the Empire, the God-Emperor of the time elevated every surviving warrior to the rank of lordship, and it was from these men that many of today’s jeonsa were descended from. Lyanna was amazed by the exploits of the jeonsa. The books spoke in great detail of how the jeonsa chose to distinguish themselves from the other common soldiers by wearing different armour and following a strict code called _bushido_ that reminded her of a knight’s chivalry. Unlike many knights though, it appeared that the jeonsa upheld their values much more firmly. Of course, that could be the historians attempting to romanticise the jeonsa to make them seem larger than life. There were mentions of jeonsa who became _ronin_ when their master was either slain of shamed, becoming either Sellswords or bandits.

The God-Emperor’s guard consisted almost entirely of jeonsa, with a few notable exceptions of other soldiers who distinguished themselves in their deeds. Lyanna was surprised to know that many of the weapons owned by the jeonsa are made of Valyrian steel, of which apparently Yi Ti had the formula to recreate. However, the recipe was jealously guarded within the vaults of the Emperor’s treasury and accessible only to the highest ranking and most trustworthy of officers. The blacksmiths who forged the weapons were sworn by a blood oath bound by obscure magic to never reveal the mystery either. That left Lyanna feeling curious. So the secret behind the strongest steel in the known world was not lost to the Doom after all.

Lyanna was currently reading up on more of the history of the jeonsa when there was a knock on the door of her _hanok._ Calling her visitor to enter, Arthur came in, wearing no shoes (a YiTish custom that the knight had learned the hard way when one of the older maidservants caught him standing inside his own _hanok_ ) and bowed slightly.

“The Emperor’s herald is here. He has an invitation from the Emperor himself, inviting you and Jon to have lunch with him,” said Arthur. Jon, who was gumming down on a wooden block, paused at the mention of his name and looked up at the knight. He let out a happy gurgling, making Arthur smile down at him.

An invitation from the Emperor himself to have lunch? Even Lyanna could tell that this was a tremendous honour. Emperor Bu Gai seemed to be a busier man than anyone else she had ever met, though she supposed that running a country with a larger economy and population would require more time and effort. Lyanna had not seen Emperor Bu Gai once since the day they arrived, though she had caught glimpses of the ministers and nobles walking around the palace grounds. She did not expect to see the Emperor for longer; however, being a simple refugee on the run, she would have assumed that she was lower on the list of important things the Emperor had to take care of.

“Tell him that I will be with him soon,” said Lyanna. She put down the scroll she had been reading, stood up, smoothed the skirts of her grey and white _hanbok_ and collected Jon after coercing him into giving up the block he had been trying to eat. Her back ached slightly, a small testament to the fact that her son was getting bigger and bigger with every passing day.

Arthur took the lead as Lyanna walked out of the hanok with Jon in her arms. Waiting patiently was the Emperor’s herald, a man whose name Lyanna learned from one of the maidservants who spoke broken Common Tongue was Yu-beom. Surrounding Yu-beom were several palace guards, including Lord Hasashi while watching cautiously from the opposite ends of the shallow balcony of the hanok were Gerold, Oswell and Mark. They inclined their heads in acknowledgement when they saw Lyanna, while Yu-beom smiled and bowed low to her, the beads of his strange hat (the name of which she forgot even though she was certain she had seen it during her studies) hanging down lowly. Adewale was nowhere to be seen, which meant that he was probably off on business or working on repairing the ship with what was left of his men.

“Good morning, Lady Lyanna,” greeted Yu-beom. Lyanna smiled and curtseyed as best as she could while holding onto Jon, hating just how much she had to act the part of a lady even in another country. She had learned that Yi Ti accepted female warriors within their ranks, even amongst the jeonsa. She wanted to become like one of them, but from what she heard, most of the female warriors were stationed up in the north, patrolling the borders to keep the Jogos Nhai in line.

“If you will follow me, the Emperor has invited you to have lunch with him,” said Yu-beom. Without waiting for a response, he turned around and beckoned for the refugees to follow him. Lyanna sighed and handed Jon over to Arthur then followed. The way it sounded, it seemed as though the invitation was more of an order than anything else. Perhaps Emperor Bu Gai was used to getting his own way. Not surprising, considering the people actually worshipped him as a god. Dutiful as ever, Gerold and Oswell flanked either side of Lyanna while Arthur and Mark brought up the rear. The palace guards surrounded them, though by now Lyanna was confident that they would not try anything that could endanger Jon. So far, the Emperor had kept his word that no harm would come to them while under his protection. It had only been a week since they came to Yi Ti though, so anything was still possible. Gerold himself was more paranoid that all of this compassion and care they were receiving from the YiTish was simply a trick to get them to lower their guard.

“How have you enjoyed your stay in Yi Ti so far, my lady?” asked Yu-beom.

Lyanna looked at the herald in surprise after having been staring at the back of Lord Hasashi’s head for most of the long walk, not expecting him to try and converse with her. “Yi Ti is beautiful, my lord. I have spent much of my time reading of your history. I have never read anything so interesting in my life.”

“I have heard from the servants that you have been most inquisitive about Yi Ti’s customs and language,” said Yu-beom. “Is there anything in particular that stands out to you?”

“The jeonsa,” said Lyanna immediately. When Yu-beom gave her a curious look she continued. “Their actions throughout history remind me much of the knights of Westeros. Brave, honourable and faithful to their oaths. The structure of their order and the position they hold in YiTish society is very much the same as well, it is rather impressive.”

“I admit I am not familiar with the traditions of the Seven Kingdoms, so correct me if I am wrong but anyone can become a knight?” said Yu-beom. Instead of Lyanna answering, it was Arthur who spoke.

“If a man proves his valour on the field of battle or in tournaments, he may become a knight,” he said.

“Just the men?” pressed Yu-beom. “The jeonsa are different. Almost all of them are of noble birth and are trained as a jeonsa from the moment they can walk. It is exceptionally rare for someone not born a jeonsa to become one. They must receive special permission from either the shogun or the Emperor himself.”

“Fascinating,” murmured Lyanna. Growing up, she had always loved the stories of knights and the great battles of old, in particular that of Queen Nymeria who led the Rhoynar to Westeros and settled Dorne. She wished to be a warrior, just like Nymeria and to ride into the heat of battle alongside knights and the brave men of the North. Motherhood and losing most of her family to Robert’s rebellion had significantly curbed that desire, but a small part of her wished to continue in her wild ways. The prospect of learning from the jeonsa women was enticing.

Yu-beom continued to regal Lyanna and the others with tales of Yi Ti as they walked through the palace to what he called ‘the Emperor’s Palace,’ telling them mostly of the Imperial Palace and its structure. Being a city within a city, the Imperial Palace was split into seven sections; the Emperor’s Palace which he shared with his wife depending on the strength of the royal couple’s relationship, otherwise an eighth section was opened up to be the Queen’s Palace where she and her maidens and servants could live. The other divisions were the Prince’s Palace (or Princess’s, and that was also only opened when the heir reached maturity), the Ministers’ Houses, the Servants’ Quarters, the Guest Houses, the Lotus Gardens and the barracks. The names were self-explanatory, but in the past the purpose of each sector was changed or moved around depending on the Emperor’s wants and needs.

Lyanna listened attentively, eager to absorb all the information she could while occasionally checking over her shoulder to see how Arthur was doing with Jon. Unsurprisingly, the Dornish knight was entertaining the baby king with little problem. Jon was so taken with Arthur that sometimes it seemed that he was Arthur’s son and not Rhaegar’s. They even looked similar enough at first glance with their dark hair.

The walk was long, but eventually they reached the Emperor’s Palace. The guards stationed at the gates paid the group no mind as they walked past, though Lyanna spotted a few curious glances thrown their way. Buildings similar to the hanoks in the Guest Houses, but far larger and more grandiose greeted them. Stationed at every gateway into each property were two jeonsa in azure-blue armour, still as statues with their hands either resting on the pommels of their swords or folded across their chests. Lyanna felt their gazes on her and the others as they passed through each gate, making her feel slightly uncomfortable. It was very different from Winterfell’s guards, who often used to smile and greet her whenever she passed. Perhaps that was the purpose though, the jeonsa were protecting their country’s reigning family after all.

The largest and most magnificent building was where Yu-beom led Lyanna and her escort, passing by another set of guards. The courtyard surrounding the building was bustling with servants, with even more guards watching them with keen eyes. The courtyard itself was exceptionally clean, with not a thing out of place. It was much more organised compared to the commotion that often happened back home in Winterfell. Many of the servants looked their way curiously, and some whispered to their neighbour however they did not slow down their work at all.

Once inside, Lyanna was surprised to see that the inner walls were made out of paper like the walls of the hanoks in the Guest Houses. She would have thought that with it being the king’s palace, the entire structure would have been made out of stronger materials. When she asked Yu-beom about it, the herald merely smiled.

“Nobody in Yi Ti is foolish enough to even think about assassinating the Emperor,” he said.

The wooden floors inside the building were painted a deep red, with lanterns sitting in braziers along the walls. One thing about paper walls was that it let in the sunlight very easily, making it easy to see where one was going without having to rely on torches. It also provided warmth within, even though Yi Ti was very warm and humid to begin with. Yu-beom led Lyanna, Arthur, Gerold, Oswell and Mark along with Jon to a set of red doors, where a pair of jeonsa guards and a pair of maidservants stood at attention. When they were seen, the maidservants bowed before pulling on the intricate golden hoops on the doors, opening them up.

“This is the Emperor’s private quarters,” explained Yu-beom. “Please do as I say to show your respects to his Royal Majesty.”

Lyanna shared a look with Arthur before following the herald inside. The Emperor’s chambers were just as impressive as everything else Lyanna had seen so far in Yi Ti. Ornate painting depicting men in silk robes that she suspected might have been past emperors hung from the walls, while azure silk curtains hung from the ceiling alongside braziers. Lyanna could also see a red curtain that had been drawn up, revealing where the Emperor himself was sitting in front of alongside two small boys and another baby who he was holding. Emperor Bu-gai smiled at them as they entered, then bid them to come closer.

“Follow my lead,” whispered Yu-beom. He bowed low at the waist, followed by everyone else before walking forward. They did this three times before Yu-beom quietly told them that they could not go past the red curtain as the actual bedchamber was off-limits to anyone not of the royal family.

“This room is far better than the King’s chambers back home,” murmured Oswell.

Emperor Bu-gai said something that must have been strange, because Yu-beom looked up quickly in shock. He stuttered something out, but the Emperor waved a hand dismissively. Lyanna heard the gulp come from Yu-beom’s throat as he turned to face her.

“His Majesty’s children would like to meet your son, so he has asked that you come forward,” he said, his voice as shaken as he looked. Lyanna glanced between her Kingsguard and Mark, who did not seem to take well to the idea but they kept their silence. What could they do when the most powerful man this side of Essos made a request? She personally did not find anything wrong, but she had also been questioning her own judgement as of late. But with the two small boys looking at her with wide, dark eyes, Lyanna felt that she would be fine.

Taking a deep breath, Lyanna took Jon from a reluctant Arthur and slowly made her way over to the Emperor and his children with slow, uneasy steps, passing by Lord Hasashi who gave her a small nod of his head. Jon, as innocent as any babe was simply looked around the Emperor’s chambers with wide-eyed wonder, every little sight catching his short attention before he was distracted by the next thing. Once Lyanna was closer to the royal family, she noticed how similar Emperor Bu-gai’s children looked compared to their father. They stared up at her with big eyes, their cheeks round with child fat. Were it not for the fact that one of the boys was taller than the other, Lyanna would have thought they were twins. Both of them had identical, medium-length black hair styled in a bowl-cut that covered their foreheads, had the same features all YiTish people possessed, with mono lids, and they wore the exact same styled silk robes as each other. The only difference between the two was that the taller boy’s clothing was sapphire-blue, and the shorter boy’s was emerald-green.

“My eldest and heir, Chang-shin,” said Emperor Bu-gai in perfect Common Tongue while pointing to the taller boy, surprising Lyanna. Her surprise must have shown on her face, because the Emperor smiled. “I do know how to speak your tongue, my lady. All Emperors learn many languages, though we often do not reveal it to anyone, even our allies.”

“I see,” said Lyanna. She looked down at Chang-shin, who eyed her curiously. The way he held himself, even while sitting down reminded her of her dear eldest brother Brandon, who knew he was destined to lead and carried himself with all the pride of a lord, minus the pompousness that came with it. Chang-shin seemed confident for a child his age.

“Please, sit with us,” requested Emperor Bu-gai, gesturing to the _tatami_ mat they were on. Lyanna acquiesced and knelt down on the soft floor, placing Jon on her lap for the royals to see. At once Chang-shin and his younger brother crawled over to look at Jon. Jon, for his part was happy with the new attention he was receiving, letting out delighted gurgles as the two boys took turns entertaining him.

“My second son, Shohei,” said the Emperor. In response, Shohei looked up at Lyanna and gave a little bow of his head before turning his attention back to Jon once more.

“Your sons have excellent manners, how old are they?” asked Lyanna.

“Chang-shin is seven years old, and Shohei is four,” said Emperor Bu-gai. “And my daughter, Chaeyoung is a month old.”

Lyanna looked at the bundle of cloth in the Emperor’s arms, seeing a small tuft of black hair. Emperor Bu-gai adjusted the bundle to reveal the pudgy face of what was probably the most adorable baby Lyanna had ever seen in her life. Her hair looked as soft as velvet and completely covered her head, with round, rosy-pink cheeks and narrow, dark eyes that made her face look even fatter than it really was. Lyanna was certain this babe was beautiful and would grow to be beautiful as well.

“She is gorgeous,” said Lyanna. “My Jon is almost one year and I love him more than anything. I can only imagine the love you must possess to be able to share it with three children.”

Emperor Bu-gai gave his daughter Chaeyoung a sad smile which he shared with Lyanna when he looked at her. “I love all my children equally, but I must admit there is a special place in my heart for Chaeyoung,” he said. “She already is my pride and joy, just as my sons will become the pride of Yi Ti.”

The way the Emperor spoke, there was no doubt in Lyanna’s mind that he believed what he said. It seemed that he had great expectations of his children. Lyanna was no stranger to that, and she supposed that was the way of the world when it came to the highborn, even all the way out here in Yi Ti.

“Tell me about why you left your home,” said Emperor Bu-gai. When Lyanna looked back at him, he continued. “I am aware that there has been a change in power regarding the Seven Kingdoms, and that there was a war involved. However news travels slowly when it comes to places as far away as your homeland, and I am a curious man.”

Lyanna glanced over her shoulder to look at her four guards, who were watching her nervously. Turning back to the Emperor, she smiled and set Jon down on the floor. Chang-shin and Shohei immediately came closer to play with the baby boy, while seemingly out of nowhere a maidservant appeared and took Chaeyoung away. Another came, holding a tray made out of ceramic cups filled with steaming tea called _mugicha,_ a tea made from barley wheat and said to have excellent medicinal properties. Lyanna and Mark both loved it, however Arthur and Gerold were less inclined to drink it. Oswell had outright refused after his first sip, claiming that it tasted like muddy water in Flea Bottom. Lyanna grabbed one of the cups with two hands and took a sip, sighing in content as the liquid cleared her throat and warmed her body and spirits. 

“What would you like to know?” she asked once she had finished taking her first step.

“How did the war come about? Why did your people rebel against your king?” asked Emperor Bu-gai.

“The king, Aerys Targaryen was… not a good king. He was afraid of traitors and conspirers secretly working to usurp him and it eventually drove him mad,” began Lyanna. “He was obsessed with fire as well and used it to execute people who he thought were going to betray him. I do not think many of them were actually guilty of what they were accused of doing.

“There was this great tournament that was being held in Harrenhal, and it was supposed to be the grandest tournament the Seven Kingdoms had ever seen. Lords, ladies and knights from all across the realm came to watch or participate, hoping for a chance to claim some glory. My brothers and I all went down with almost all of the lordlings from the North to watch as well. Everyone came, and I do not exaggerate.

“But some things happened which caused the opinions of the Targaryens to sour significantly. Prince Rhaegar publicly humiliated his wife in favour of another woman-“

“It was you, was it not?” interrupted Emperor Bu-gai, his head tilted slightly like a curious dog.

Lyanna stifled the impulsive urge to snap at the Emperor as she nodded her head stiffly. “Rhaegar saved my life, angering his father so he made me the Queen of Love and Beauty to rub it in the king’s face. I do not believe that Rhaegar was thinking of the long-term effects of his actions, otherwise we would not be here today.”

“Did the rebellion occur after that?” asked Bu-gai.

Lyanna shook her head. “No, that did not happen for another few months, when word got out that Rhaegar had kidnapped me while I was on my way to Riverrun to witness my eldest brother’s wedding,” she answered.

“Your husband kidnapped you?”

“Rhaegar and I had been writing to each other for months following the tourney at Harrenhal. He was very interested in learning about the Old Gods and the legends of the North, but somewhere along the way we grew to care for each other. Rhaegar found me just south of Moat Cailin with Sers Arthur and Oswell and brought me to the Isle of Faces because they believed that Aerys had sent out assassins to kill me along the way. I did not believe them until we ran into a few. We all survived, but I believed Rhaegar had my best interests at heart and I fell in love with him. We were married with Elia’s blessing, as Rhaegar believed that he needed a third child as Elia was too sick to bear another.

“Somehow word got out that Rhaegar had abducted me, angering my elder brother Brandon, my father and my betrothed, Robert Baratheon. I had sent a message to Brandon explaining why I had disappeared, but I do not think he ever got it. He travelled to King’s Landing to kill Rhaegar, but he was arrested. Then my father went to free him and got captured him as well. Aerys killed my father and brother both using wildfire,” Emperor Bu-gai’s eyes widened in horror at that, “then demanded the heads of my other brother Eddard and Robert. Instead, Robert called his banners in my name, believing himself to be in love with me and Eddard became the new Lord of Winterfell, married Brandon’s betrothed and joined him. That was when the war broke out.”

Lyanna paused to collect herself. She had not spoken of what had happened, not even with Arthur or the others. The memories were too painful to bring up, even a year later. But Lyanna found that she could not stop now that she had begun.

“I fell pregnant with my son while we were hiding in Dorne. Rhaegar went off to lead the loyalists, but he was killed by Robert himself on the Trident. After that the loyalists fell. The Lannisters sacked King’s Landing, Aerys was betrayed by his only remaining Kingsguard and killed on the Iron Throne and Elia and her two children were murdered. Robert claimed the Iron Throne as his own seat and forced everyone to kneel to him.

“Once I learned that Robert had sanctioned the deaths of Rhaegar’s other two children, I knew that Jon would not be safe as long as Robert was alive. With Eddard’s help, I, my son and the Kingsguard still loyal to the Targaryens fled here, to Yi Ti. I do not know what my brother told Robert, but I do know that so long as that man sits the Iron Throne, my son’s life will always be in danger.”

Lyanna became silent after that. She suddenly felt exhausted, like speaking of everything she and her family had endured had taken her energy away. She also didn’t realise that she was crying until Emperor Bu-gai held out a silk handkerchief to her, a sympathetic expression on his face. Lyanna took the offering, bowing her head in gratitude and used it to wipe her tears away. She took a deep, shuddering breath and straightened her back. It was not until now that she had realised just how alone she was. Ned and Ben were back home in the North, Rhaegar was dead, as was Father and Brandon. Her country thought her dead, and the ones who knew were either sworn to secrecy or hunting her down with the intention of killing her son and dragging her back to a miserable marriage with Robert. Yes, she had Jon, Arthur and the other men who had sworn themselves to her, but Jon was only a baby and the Kingsguard, while she was good friends with all of them, she could not relate to them as well as she would like.

“It takes a great deal of courage to leave behind everything you know,” said Emperor Bu-gai.

“It has been a difficult year,” admitted Lyanna quietly. She took a deep sip from her cup, letting the _mugicha_ wash away the sorrow she was feeling.

Emperor Bu-gai nodded his head to her. “Thank you for sharing your story with me. One as young as yourself should not have had to endure such hardships, especially with a son involved,” he said. Looking at his two sons, whose attentions were focused entirely on Jon, he continued, “Your spirit is strong, Lady Lyanna. You remind me strongly of my own wife, Hong-ju.”

“Your wife passed away, did she not?” asked Lyanna. Immediately she regretted speaking when she saw the stricken look on Emperor Bu-gai’s face. “Forgive me, Your Majesty, I spoke out of turn.”

“It is fine,” said Emperor Bu-gai with a dismissive shake of his head. “She died bringing our daughter into the world and her memory still pains me even now. I imagine you feel the same way in regards to your precious Rhaegar.”

Lyanna nodded. She probably did understand exactly what the Emperor was going through. When she had first learned of Rhaegar’s death, she had locked herself up in her, _their_ room and did not come out for a week. She remembered spending every waking moment crying, gazing out of the window towards the Dornish Marches while stroking her constantly swelling belly. Her child had been the only piece of Rhaegar, along with his sacred harp. Lyanna wondered if Ned had taken that thing with him back to Winterfell, or if he had destroyed it. Yet looking at the Emperor, she thought that he was taking his wife’s death far better than she had. Perhaps it was because as the Emperor, Bu-gai had to remain strong in front of his people. Lyanna wondered if he let down his walls when he thought no one else was looking, or if he did so in front of his children.

“Will you return to Westeros to reclaim what has been stolen from your son?” asked Emperor Bu-gai.

Lyanna opened her mouth, but then closed it. The wild part of her, the wolf’s blood, as it was called in the North wanted nothing more than to go back to the Seven Kingdoms and avenge the deaths of everyone she had lost. She wanted to tear Robert apart for killing Rhaegar, to scream at Ser Barristan for not being able to protect his prince until her throat was sore. She wanted nothing more than to take the Mountain’s head off for what he did to Elia and her children and burn Tywin Lannister’s body and mount his head on a stake for betraying his king. Lyanna had imagined all the ways she would exact her revenge on those who had wronged her family. She wanted to find out who had intercepted the message she had sent off to Brandon, because if he had received it he would have never gone to King’s Landing in the first place. She wanted to bring the words of her husband’s house to pass. She wanted winter to come with fire and blood.

But another part of Lyanna simply wanted to never have to endure any hardships ever again, especially with a son of her own. She wanted to watch Jon grow up, never having to worry about birthrights and prophecies. She wanted him to learn how to wield a sword, to become a great warrior like his father and uncles were, but she hoped that he would never have to take a man’s life. Lyanna wanted to see Jon fall in love and have a family of his own while she grew old. She wanted to see him happy. If Jon decided to stay in Yi Ti, she would be fine with it. If Jon wanted to travel the world, she would be sad to see him go but would allow him to pursue his dreams. If Jon wanted the Iron Throne…

“If Jon wishes to return to our homeland, I will follow him,” answered Lyanna. “He is the heir to the Iron Throne and it is his decision. If he wishes to stay here, then we will stay.”

Emperor Bu-gai hummed thoughtfully, stroking the fine black hairs on his chin. “My advisors wished to send you and your people away,” he said. “Even now they continue to insist that I revoke my offer of protection for reasons I do not know.”

“What will you do, Your Majesty?” asked Lyanna.

Emperor Bu-gai let out a snort. “The ministers and magistrates of my empire may control the country in practice, but they would not dare go against my word. You have my sincerest oath that no harm will come upon you, your child or your men while I am emperor.”

Lyanna smiled and bowed to him, feeling relieved and grateful for his compassion and generosity. When she lifted herself up again, she said, “We do not wish to be a burden on you, You Majesty.”

“Nonsense, my lady,” said Emperor Bu-gai. “I would be honoured to have you live in my house as permanent residents. There are a great many buildings in my palace that have not been used for many years. It will be good to have one of them used once more.

“I would, if it pleases you, like to have our children become friends,” continued the Emperor in a hopeful voice. “I have long wished for my nation to have stronger ties with other countries in the west, and I believe that creating a bond between our children will help break down the barriers the world has set in place for thousands of years. My sons can learn from your knights, and your son can learn from my jeonsa. Perhaps your son and my daughter could be matched together someday as well.”

Lyanna glanced at the three boys playing. It seemed that they already got along very well. She wondered if this had all been a part of the Emperor’s plan when he invited her to see him. However, she could see no reason why she should not accept his offer. It was a good idea, when she thought about it. By bringing the future rulers of two nations together as friends and allies by teaching them about each other’s cultures, it could create a bond as strong as brotherhood.

“I think that is a wonderful idea,” said Lyanna, her eyes not leaving the playing boys. “However I think it is a little early to organise a betrothal between my son and your daughter just yet.”

“Oh, I agree,” said Emperor Bu-gai, letting out a chuckle as well. “I would like my little Chaeyoung to simply be my daughter without having to worry about potential suitors for a while yet.”

Emperor Bu-gai then clapped his hands, and servants appeared, carrying trays loaded with bowls of rice and dishes of fresh seafood and _ramen._ “We have spoken much, you and I and I think it is time to enjoy some lunch,” he said happily. Looking at his children, he said something in YiTish. Both Chang-shin and Shohei stood up and dashed over to their father, leaving Jon alone on the ground. The baby frowned now that he was no longer the centre of attention, however he crawled over to Lyanna and climbed up onto her lap.

After giving thanks for the food (“ _Itadakimasu,_ ” said the Emperor and his two sons at the same time with a clap of their hands), the royals ate their lunch. Emperor Bu-gai explained to Lyanna that he was already having his servants and builders refurbish one of the abandoned complexes in the Queen’s Palace where she, Jon and the Kingsguard could live and that it would be ready in a week’s time. Lyanna tried to refuse, but Bu-gai insisted, stating that the Queen’s Palace would no longer be in use until Chang-shin ascended to the throne and got married. With that being many years away, Lyanna and her family could live there without any worries. The ministers would be upset, but Emperor Bu-gai confidently assured her that he could put their concerns to rest. Lyanna had a few more questions, all of which the Emperor either answered or promised that Yu-beom would investigate, placating her enough to eventually agree to move into the Queen’s Palace once renovations were complete.

But there was something weighing on Lyanna’s mind, something she had been meaning to ask someone else but had never gotten the opportunity to do so. “Your Majesty, I have a question regarding one of your guards,” she said.

Emperor Bu-gai looked at Lyanna with a curious expression, but he nodded his assent to continue.

“It is about Lord Hasashi. I am most curious about him,” said Lyanna. “Who is he?”

“He is a jeonsa,” answered Emperor Bu-gai, “however I sense that this is not what you want to know.”

Lyanna nodded her head a little nervously.

Emperor Bu-gai let out a deep sigh and leaned back, placing his hand on top of his knees. “Lord Hasashi is the greatest swordsman in all of Yi Ti. He comes from a very small clan further north in the Gyeongsang province and is the principle bannerman of Clan Takagawa. Lord Hasashi is here at my behest as he is a childhood friend and my champion. Not only that, but he is a seer.”

“A seer?” repeated Lyanna.

“He sees things in his dreams, visions of the future that have a tendency to come true,” said Emperor Bu-gai. “It was he who suggested to me to keep my informants on the docks and to send others to as far as Qarth for news on the state of the Seven Kingdoms. He told me of a vision he had of foreigners coming to my lands as they fled for their lives.”

“Lord Hasashi knew we were coming, which was how he knew exactly where we were when he found us and brought us to you,” said Lyanna in stunned realisation. She remembered the dream Lord Hasashi told her about the night they first came to Yi Ti, of the ghostly demon who slaughtered Yi Ti’s enemies before conquering the Seven Kingdoms. All of a sudden she felt a deep chill travel down her spine, sucking away the warmth the tea and food had provided her. She looked down at Jon worriedly. Emperor Bu-gai said that Lord Hasashi’s dreams often came to pass. If that were true, then Lyanna had a feeling the jeonsa had dreamed about Jon returning home. It sounded as if her son would see much death in his time even before deciding to reclaim his throne. Lyanna did not know how to feel about that, so she said nothing.

After that, there was not much else to do so they went their separate ways. Emperor Bu-gai had court business to attend to so his sons were collected by servants and guards while Lyanna and her companions were to return to their residences but not before the Emperor had requested that they visit often so their children can get to know one another better. Lyanna agreed before leaving the King’s personal quarters, escorted by her knights.


End file.
